


Unlikely Hero

by Chancy_Lurking



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Benny Lafitte - Freeform, Bobby SInger - Freeform, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Destiel Harlequin Challenge, Happy Ending, Jody Mills - Freeform, M/M, Men of Letters, Monsters and Humans Coexist AU, Others - Freeform, Past Torture, Powered-Down Angels, Sam Winchester - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 16:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11445108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chancy_Lurking/pseuds/Chancy_Lurking
Summary: “They drove mostly in silence, though Jody did give him a look when he said Castiel’s name. But she didn’t comment other than a hesitant “okay” and neither did he, because he couldn’t blame her. Couldn’t blame Sam, either, when they met up on the street outside Castiel’s house and his face twisted with suppressed questions. A decade is a long time to go without talking about someone.”(When Castiel calls Dean, after almost of decade of radio silence, for help after his daughter is kidnapped, it’s supposed to be a professional favor. But Dean’s life is never that simple and when old feelings get involved and stir up old demons, well… Whywouldn’tthere be a little dose of Hell to top it all off?)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I may have gone just a _wee bit_ over the top with this, but I hope it’s a fun ride!
> 
> Original Summary:  
>  _Castiel doesn’t know where else to turn when his daughter is kidnapped, so he calls on his powerful ex-lover, Dean. Dean never expected to hear from Castiel again, but he never got over the man, either. When Castiel comes to him to help find the three-year-old Claire, there’s no way Dean can turn him down. He has the money and the contacts Castiel needs, and he can’t let Castiel walk out of his life again. Not after all these years._
> 
> _Dean has no idea what he’s letting himself in for. Together, Castiel and Claire turn Dean’s world upside down while they work with police and private security to find the people who took Claire, and to keep Castiel and Claire safe while they do. Even as they get to know each other again, Dean has to fight the feelings he still has for Castiel, at least for time being, which just makes it all that much harder. Can Castiel and Dean find out who wants to hurt them before it’s too late, or will Dean fall off his pedestal as Castiel’s hero?_

It wasn’t so much that Dean _enjoyed_ the violence as he’d come to have an _appreciation_ for it.

The thing about growing up fighting is that eventually it gets to the point where you don’t really know how to stop. Or, well, at least that was how Dean saw it. He’d learned very early on that he had a lot to lose and let himself believe if he was just strong enough, just _tough_ enough, _knew_ just enough, he’d never have to worry about losing it. He’d been building his skills since the night he took a rifle to fight the monster in the closet when he was ten and _actually_ wound up fighting a monster. He was a natural; he appreciated his own skills and liked to use them, even when it came to fighting.

That is to say, even as Dean adjusted the ice pack on his shoulder and gave himself stitches in the Men of Letter’s bathroom, he was still more than ready to go another four rounds. Five or six if they were good fights; ten if they were important. He was a flexible sort of guy and didn’t have anything else to do with his night. But he also wasn’t disappointed when Benny shoved him out the door “ _just until the bruises green,_ ” which they both understood meant bright and early Monday morning. That just meant he got to take the long road home, speeding down the long stretch of highway that would take him back to _The Bunker_ , as he had affectionately dubbed his apartment building. A weekend wasn’t long enough for him to get stir crazy, not this time.

It had been a good case; no casualties, no grievous wounds for him or Sam, and _a lot_ of money from a government entity that preferred not to be named. All innocents had gone home different, but more or less in one piece. Dean was feeling good; which wasn’t odd enough to be a rarity, but still felt like something of a novelty. They’d come a long way, they really had.

Which is why when Dean was startled awake by his personal phone blaring the “unknown number” ringtone and the clock on the DVR glowing 9:35am (at least three hours earlier than he had intended on waking up), he was a little less than pleased.

He’d fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of marathoning _Dr. Sexy_ and managed to bleed on his couch. The pain meds he’d taken when he’d gotten home had worn down enough that his shoulder _killed_ when he even tried to sit up, saying nothing of the crook in his neck. Pawing at his work phone, just to make sure he hadn’t missed any emergency calls, and finding it empty of any notifications just set his teeth on edge. He had no clue who the hell was calling him.

So scratch that: he was a little _pissed_.

“I don’t know who you are or how you got this number,” Dean snapped as soon as he hit answer, “but you sure as hell better—”

“ _Dean_.”

…It bears restating that Dean hunted for a living.

There was no nine to five, he spent countless hours hunting down monsters and humans alike. He hunted demons and collected cursed items, got cursed himself occasionally; he dealt with a lot of bad shit, a lot of _evil_ shit on a day to day basis.  But nothing – no being, no _spell_ even – has ever so abruptly taken the fire out of him and given him that kicked in the gut feeling as hearing his name said in a voice he hadn’t heard in over eight years.

Abruptly, Dean was twenty-five years old again and the walls were closing in around him.

It took him a moment to even find his voice. “… _Cas_?” he asked even though there wasn’t anyone else it could be. The silence that followed couldn’t have lasted longer than a breath, but in the TV-lit semi-darkness of his empty apartment, he couldn’t even bear that much, “Castiel, is that you?”

“I’m so…Dean, I’m so sorry, _please_ ,” Castiel said and Dean’s chest clenched when he began to sob. “ _I need your help_.”

Dean sat up so quickly he tweaked his shoulder, getting a head rush from the pain. “What happened?”

“It’s Claire,” Castiel replied. “They—someone kidnapped my daughter.”

A flurry of questions ran through Dean’s mind at that, but he crumbled the ones that felt like they might hurt and got to his feet. “How long ago and from where?”

“My _house_ , Dean. We’d just gotten home and then I woke up on the floor and she’s just _gone_ ,” he cried, “Dean, please, I know I have no right to ask—”

“Text me your address,” Dean cut in before Castiel could even complete that thought. “I’m on my way,” he said, snatching up his work phone and keys from the end table before bending to take his gun out from under it. “Did you call the cops?”

Castiel didn’t answer for a moment, then admitted brokenly, “They threatened to _kill_ her, Dean.”

Dean shut his eyes, shaking his head. “We won’t give them the chance,” he held the phone in between his cheek and his shoulder as he slid back into his jeans, stomped into his boots. “I got my own cop, plain clothes.”

“What do I _do?_ ” Castiel said, “Dean, she’s just a baby, I can’t—”

“Lock the door and keep your phone on,” Dean said calmly, case mode settling in over his frazzled nerves. “I’m on the way now, but call me if anyone tries to contact you before we get there. We’re gonna figure this out.”

Dean was no stranger to getting on the move quickly, had already worked halfway through a plan by the time he got to the car. He hit Benny’s autodial.

“Mornin’, brother, you’re up earl—”

“Got a case,” Dean cut in, at the same time punching out a quick text – _911:_ _Plain clothes, 10 minutes_ – while he waited for the garage gate to open. “Gotta move fast.”

 “Funny sorta Monday, D,” Benny said, but Dean knew him well enough to understand it was a question not an immediate shut down.

Even so, Dean had to take several breaths before he could force the words out. “It’s _Cas_.”

The breath Benny took in response wasn’t exactly out of shock, but it conveyed his understanding. Dean had been _very_ drunk the night he’d told Benny about Castiel, but that had been more than enough to make the importance stick, apparently.

“Alright, brother,” he said and Dean heard him get up, “I’ll shake Sam, you snag the Sherriff.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, already seeing her respond, “ _10-4_ ” as soon as the word was out of his mouth. She was fifteen minutes away – fewer if he was driving – and on the way to Castiel’s suburb. Of all the law enforcement he worked with, she was the one he’d call under any circumstances, for any reason. Jody Mills was the one who would answer the phone instantly, as if he was her kid, but still show up and treat him like a professional. They’d both gotten very good at what they did over the years and when their jobs overlapped, they kicked _ass_.

They could use some of that today.

When he pulled up to her house, Jody looked happy to see him but was nowhere close to smiling when she leaned in the window of the car. “Oh boy, that’s a face,” she said, “What do we got?”

“Missing kid,” he answered flatly, watching for any pain in her face. They’d met on one of the hardest days of her life. He’d drive off if she said that day wasn’t far enough away.

But Jody didn’t flinch, though he noticed the way her jaw clenched. “No amber alert?”

“There was a threat.”

“Alright,” Jody sighed, opening the door, and that was the end of any hesitation Dean had. “Let’s get to work.”

They drove mostly in silence, though Jody did give him a look when he said Castiel’s name. But she didn’t comment other than a hesitant “ _okay_ ” and neither did he, because he couldn’t blame her. Couldn’t blame Sam, either, when they met up on the street outside Castiel’s house and his face twisted with suppressed questions. A decade is a long time to go without talking about someone.

Even still, Castiel was in Dean’s arms before he could even knock on the door. “Hello, Dean.”

It was an awkward hug, but that was… _right_. Castiel’s hugs were always endearing in how uncomfortable they were. It was just a quirk of his affection and Dean had always loved it; the circumstances were the only thing keeping him from basking in it. “Heya, Cas,” he said, patting his back, before standing away. That was all the time for a reunion they had.

Dean kept a hand on Castiel’s shoulder as they stepped into the house. “Alright, guys, this is Castiel Novak,” he introduced, “We’re officially on the clock to find his daughter, Claire. Cas, you remember Sam.”

Sam didn’t hesitate when Castiel reached out. “Long time, man,” Sam said, hugging him quickly.

“And this is the brother you never met,” Dean said, putting a hand on Benny’s shoulder in anticipation of the nerves he couldn’t see.

Benny liked to joke that it didn’t matter if he was tame now, time couldn’t break down the fact that he’d stood on the side of the ferals for a very long time, decades. He normally said it with ease, as a joke; he didn’t care much what the average person thought of vampires. But Castiel was not average – he mattered to Dean and, as far as Benny knew, very well might have the power to _smite_ him out of existence.

It surprised him, then, pleasantly so, that Castiel unflinchingly took his hand, without so much a hint of distaste. “Benny Lafitte, at your service.”

Jody stepped forward for herself. “Sheriff Jody Mills,” she rushed on before he could comment, “No report is getting filed, no one else is going to know I’m here but you.” She put a quieting hand on his shoulder, “Wish it was under better circumstances, but I’m glad you called as quickly as you did. Give us everything, from the beginning.”

“Claire was fussy when she woke up this morning, so we went out to run some errands,” Castiel said quickly, his voice shaking, “but I started feeling sick and decided to come home.” He hugs himself, pacing, “By the time I got inside, I couldn’t even stand up and Claire was crying and…”

“Was the door still open?” Jody asked.

Castiel nodded. “I put her down just before I fell in the door, I think I spilled my coffee on her and— _Jesus,_ she could be hurt.”

“Where’d the coffee come from?” Dean asked, “Did you make it yourself?”

“No, I bought it at the Tea Leaf on 3rd,” he covered his face. “I go there all the time, but I didn’t think anything about it when it was watery. There was a new kid at the counter.”

Dean looked up instinctively and Sam met his eyes briefly before pulling out his phone.

“Did you tell anyone you were going?” Jody asked. “Plan to meet someone?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, it was just a coincidence I even left the house that early,” he said. “I didn’t even speak to anyone but the cashier.”

“You said there was a threat made, though,” Jody continued. “Did you get a look at…?” She trailed off when Castiel silently extended his phone towards her without looking, appearing visibly sick.

Dean was already braced for it when Jody’s face pinched, but it still made his blood run a little hot when she handed it over for them to see Claire’s face twisted mid-scream, a gloved hand pressing a Colt to her head.

“ _Stay quiet, daddy! The monster doesn’t like tattletales!_ ” read the message. Dean locked the phone.

“And she hasn’t prayed to you?” Sam asked.

Castiel shook his head. “ _Nothing._ And I know she knows how,” his voice breaks, “She’s young enough that she does it without even _meaning_ to sometimes, but I haven’t heard _anything_.”

Benny’s eyes narrowed at that, just marginally enough that Dean knew he was the only one meant to notice. It _was_ odd. A terrified little girl who knows her dad is an angel, doesn’t even cry out for him?

“And you can’t think of _anyone_ who would want to hurt either of you?” Jody asked.

“No!” Castiel exclaimed, “No, I don’t owe anyone money, I don’t _make_ enough money for anyone to blackmail me. I’m not testifying against the _mafia_ in court, I don’t understand why this is happening!”

“No angry exes?” Jody asked.

Castiel pointedly didn’t turn towards Dean who pointedly pretended not to notice. “None.”

“What about Claire’s mom?”

“No, it was a closed adoption,” Castiel answered, clearly struggling to not dissolve back into tears. “Her mother doesn’t even know her _name_. It’s just the two of us, it has been since the beginning.”

Sam stepped up closer to him. “What agency?”

Castiel ran a hand through his hair. “The Harvelle Roadhouse.”

The pause that descended on the room was almost physical.

Hunting was always a hard job, but the jobs that ended at the Roadhouse were usually some of the hardest. Ellen Harvelle dedicated her life to those kids, Dean _knew_ they were in good hands, but it still twisted him to have to bring them to her. He hadn’t started out partial to non-humans, but he had _always_ been partial towards kids. It didn’t matter what species they were, if they wound up ending a case with an orphan wrapped in his jacket, it felt like a loss. He thought of the last little shapeshifter boy he’d delivered to El, crying while Dean tried to keep his wounds hidden and a smile on his face. He thought of the fact that, in his twelve plus years of doing this, he’d only ever seen one pure-blood human child on the property – Ellen’s daughter.

Jody knew as much, too, judging by her face. She was the first to speak up, doing so cautiously. “Castiel, is Claire a human?”

Castiel’s mouth twitched, responding firmly without looking, “No.”

“Then?” Dean prompted.

The answer clearly weighed heavy on Castiel’s shoulders before he even managed to get it out. His jaw was tight when he looked up at them. “Claire is a Nephilim.”

Dean didn’t quite manage to keep the surprise off his face at that admission, but neither did anyone else.

“A Neph—…?” Jody’s eyes were wide where they rested on Castiel, before turning up to Dean in confusion. Angels weren’t all that rare these days, many deciding to stay on earth after the First Fall, but _Nephilim…_ There hadn’t been a child confirmed as the offspring of an angel and human in _decades_. It was unlikely Jody had ever even heard the term out of the context of myth.

Benny stopped just short of cursing. “Important detail, man.”

“I’m not stupid,” Castiel snapped, then seemed to get ahold of himself. “Nephilim get enough crap from angels _and_ humans,” he continued, pained. “My daughter is _not_ an abomination.”

“We ain’t saying she is,” Benny replied, and Castiel met his gaze apologetically. “But still folks out there who might not agree…”

“She doesn’t even have the _word_ for it yet,” Castiel defended, “She just thinks she’s a special kind of angel.”

“Can _you_ pray to _her_?” Sam chimed in, because his academic curiosity let him ask questions that hadn’t even occurred to Dean. Castiel might have been the only being in the world who could actively pray to a Nephilim.

But Castiel shook his head mournfully. “I usually can, yes, but there’s something blocking it. I can’t…” he shut his eyes in focus, the ozone smell of his grace flaring up briefly. “I can feel her _spirit_ , but not… _her._ ”

“Angel warding,” Dean assumed. He’d heard it described by other angels like looking for someone trapped in Schrödinger’s box. You can tell they’re _somewhere_ , but they can’t call out, they can’t confirm their own life until you find and open the right box. That would explain why Castiel couldn’t hear her either.

“I thought she was too young to have to worry about this,” Castiel lamented. “She can’t fight back yet, even…” he trailed off.

Even as one of the strongest creatures in creation.

Dean started to say something in an attempt to be comforting, but Sam’s phone chimed before he could try to scrounge up the words. “Sam?”

“You stay here,” Sam shook his phone after reading it. “I’m going to look into the barista. Charlie can run facial recognition of security footage for anyone around the shop at the time,” he turned to Jody, “but it’d be great if you could quietly get us a plate?”

“Traffic cams, got it,” Jody nodded, then added gently. “Can I take a picture of Claire, Castiel?”

Castiel seemed a little dazed at this point, but he nodded. There weren’t actually many pictures on the walls, mostly art shots from around the city Castiel had probably taken himself, but there were a series of pictures of Claire grinning out at them from the bookshelf. He grabbed one of Claire grinning on a tiny plastic swing set.

“This is the most recent one I have,” Castiel explained as he handed it over. “She’s just about to start pre-school, _Christ_ ,” he covered his mouth, turning away.

“Hey,” Jody slowly stepped back into his line of sight. “We’re going to do everything we can and no less than seven things we can’t, Castiel,” she promised when he looked at her, “We’re going to get Claire back to you.”

The comfort was thin with Claire still missing, but Castiel took it for what it was, nodding as he sat down like his strings had been cut. Dean sighed and sat down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder and pretending it was normal. “Cas, I’m not going to bullshit you, ok? I don’t have the slightest clue how much this sucks, but I know you must be sick to death,” he said. “But you’re not the first person we’ve done this for. We know what we’re doing.”

Benny nodded at him subtly, before clapping Sam on the shoulder. “Speaking of which, I’m going to do some loops around the block.”

Castiel’s panic was instantaneous. “They said no cops, they said they’ll—!” Dean caught him by the shoulder before he could jump to his feet.

“Easy, brother, I look like a cop to you?” Benny asked kindly, presently standing in stonewash jeans, a leather jacket, and a matching leather Gatsby. “I’m just a nice fella who hopped off the Gray Hound to visit his new grandbaby. Got a lil’ turned around, is all.”

“Or…?” Dean prompted.

Benny didn’t smile, but graced him with a wink. “Or every neighborhood has a tweaker who saw something and’ll say so if you don’t blow their cover.” He joined Jody at the door, addressing Castiel over his shoulder. “This ain’t our first rodeo. We know how to keep it quiet.”

Castiel looked ready to jump up and follow them out, but then Sam was kneeling before him. “Listen, Cas, let us do our thing, ok?” he said softly, “The best thing you can do right now is trust us.” He spared Dean a quick glance. “We also might have someone in the area with a tracking dog,” he continued. “Can we use one of her toys?”

“Of course, whatever you need,” Castiel answered, standing when Sam smiled encouragingly and moved out of the way.

The smile fell as soon as Castiel entered the far bedroom. “Dean,” Sam whispered.

“Twenty-four hours, I know,” Dean said immediately, pressing his keys into Sam’s hand. Dean had said it before, this wasn’t their first case – they all knew, intimately, that they were working against the clock. The odds of finding more than a body were never good after twenty-four hours.

“That’s assuming they don’t know Cas which is unlikely,” Sam said quickly. “You don’t drug an _angel_ and steal their _Nephilim_ kid on a whim.” He cut his eyes to the bedroom door, “And if Cas doesn’t have money…”

“It’s personal,” Dean concluded. Money would’ve been easy. Castiel may not have it, but Dean was loaded and wouldn’t hesitate to pony up for him. Charlie could trace a penny all the way to purgatory if she had to, they’d have a perp in cuffs before the end of the night. Even if someone was after Claire because she was Nephilim, it _most definitely_ would’ve made waves hunters would’ve heard about. The fact that it hadn’t meant that it was either so thoroughly secret as to not involve a large group or was done to hurt Castiel or Claire specifically.

Dean liked that conclusion even less.

Sam clearly felt the same, but conveyed his thoughts silently as Castiel reentered the room, a tattered bear in a space suit in tow.

“I’ll have Kev take Ramsey on a jog around the block while I’m at the Tea Leaf,” Sam said, taking the toy and turning towards the door.

“Sam,” Castiel called before he could reach the doorway. His voice was quiet and tight when he continued, “He’s her favorite.”

Sam’s face pinched, but he nodded. “I’ll take care of him.”

Castiel stood in the hallway, staring at the door long after it’d shut and Dean gave him those moments. Eventually, he stepped up to stand at Castiel’s shoulder, “Cas?”

“I’m… I keep thinking it’s a fluke,” Castiel said. “That this is all some sort of mistake and they’re just… they’re going to bring her home like it never happened. This sort of stuff doesn’t happen to people like me. I work in a _garden_ ,” he exclaimed. “Nephilim or not, Claire is just a _gardener’s daughter,_ she—” He took a breath, half turning over his shoulder. “Dean.”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“How… how do you stop being afraid?” he asked softly, face twisted. “You’re one of the bravest men I’ve ever… I have to be…” He wrapped his arms around himself, “How do you stop feeling like this?”

Dean looked at him, careful to keep the pain off his face. “Tell you a secret?” he began, as he led him back to the couch and sat down with him. He kept his arm carefully placed behind Castiel’s shoulders without actually touching him. “Only stupid people aren’t scared.”

Castiel’s brow crinkled. “But you—”

“I’m scared shitless all the time,” Dean confessed, “I just do what I gotta do anyway.”

Castiel stared at him for a long moment, eyes puffy and terrified. “And what ‘do I gotta do’?” he asked and Dean nodded his approval. It was the tone Dean had affectionately called his ‘soldier voice’ way back when. The vocal example of scared to death and willing to do it anyway.

“Exactly what you’re doing,” Dean answered, but remembered how Castiel hated unspecific directions and continued, “We keep your phone on. If they make a ransom demand, we’ll be ready for it.” He picked up Castiel’s phone, “I’m going to send this picture to our analyst to see if she can get anything off of it, ok?”

Castiel nodded blankly and unlocked the phone.

“And if anything, _anything_ comes to mind as even _slightly_ hinky,” Dean said, “anyone from back in the day who might be holding a grudge, someone pissed off about a freaking _plant_ you sold them, you mention it.”

“Dean,” Castiel cut in, seeming tired. “I haven’t changed much,” he said, which was the most direct allusion to their relationship he’d heard in years.

It was significant, though, because Dean knew exactly what Castiel was trying to say. He was saying that he was still the soft, slightly awkward guy with very few friends and even fewer enemies. He was the same guy who loved bees and cats and who spent more time alone in the park than was probably socially acceptable, who helped anyone brave enough to ask him to and most of the people who weren’t. He was saying he was still loyal and fiercely protective, but would never pick a fight or put anyone at risk. Castiel was the one who would choose to be a father on his own, because he just had that much love to give.

So no, even after all this time, Dean couldn’t think of a single reason someone would be out for Castiel. Even so, he patted Castiel’s thigh. “Anything, Cas,” he repeated. “Just think for a while, ok? Rest while you can.”

Castiel clearly had something to say about that, most likely that he wouldn’t ‘rest’ until Claire was home, but instead just nodded resolutely. He put his phone on the coffee table in front of him, watching it unwaveringly. It was like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, before shaking his head wordlessly and leaning heavily into Dean’s side.

Dean was never the guy to sit around and play the bench, he was the one who hustled and picked fights and finished them, too. There was a long list of unspeakable things he’d do – and has done – to get back a missing kid. Sitting here now, though, was also part of the job. There was a lot that wasn’t being said about he and Castiel, the way they’d left things, but there was still an ease of presence between them. They were comfortable with each other in a way that Castiel couldn’t be with any of the others; Dean staying behind was as much a part of the unspoken plan as Benny dressing like a biker lost in suburbia and Sam, the hipster-esque law student, going to a hipster-esque coffee joint. This was the roll he had to play for the moment.

The moment he had a lead he’d tear it to pieces to get Claire back to her father, but for now the most he could do was close his arm around Castiel’s shuddering shoulders and watch the phones.

The gun on his waist and the ear he kept trained on the door, notwithstanding.


	2. Chapter 2

Benny came back a few hours later with the make and model of a suspicious car and a joint, courtesies of the friendly neighborhood weed-guy. When Sam came in a short time later, he told them that the tracking dog had led Kevin to a stroller abandoned in the woods that Jody was processing for prints. All the data images from the café and surrounding area were being sorted through as they spoke.

It was approaching midnight when Dean’s phone rang in the middle of him sending out feelers to other Men of Letters. He answered it without preamble. “On speaker. Go, Charlie.”

“Got a location,” Charlie said back over the clattering of her keyboard.

“What!?” Castiel exclaimed, jumping to his feet to the sound of four phones pinging all at once. He’d been looking zombified for the entire day and Dean was glad to see the color abruptly back in his face. More so, he was glad to be able to get to his feet with intent this time.

“You’re the best, kiddo,” Dean said, “Where?”

“Well, I _am_ a goddess and it’s logged in your GPSs,” Charlie responded, “Put in your ear bugs and get moving.”

Castiel was at his side in an instant. “Dean, where—?”

“Stay here.” Dean said before Castiel could get into a full-blown episode. “We’ll be back soon.”

The indignant look on Castiel’s face could’ve fried a lesser man alive. “I am _not_ —”

“A professional?” Dean finished for him. He didn’t want to get short with him, but time was not really a luxury they had. “No, you’re not. You’re not going to be any good to us.”

“It’s not _you_ I’m worried about,” Castiel snapped. “Claire is _three_ and she’s been _kidnapped._ You’re just going to be another scary stranger coming to snatch her up. I’m her father _,_ I’m an angel. I’m supposed to keep her safe.”

“Yeah, well that sure—” Dean stopped himself before he could complete that thought, but saw the anger twist Castiel’s face regardless. “That sure is wonderful, Cas, but it’s my job to keep _both_ of you safe, from someone who knows how to keep a _Nephilim_ from her _angel father_ ,” he said.

Dean wasn’t stupid, he knew angels were originally bred to be warriors in the Holy War. To ride down on a wave of holy fire, filled with the wrath of God and smite the Devil, _blah, blah, blah_ , they all knew the story. But Castiel was not trained for that, he never had been. He could heal wounds and hear prayers; Dean had no doubt that if Claire hadn’t been warded from him, he’d have flown to her instantly and made a good effort to smite anything in the room.

A good effort was not good enough when a life was on the line.

“You’re not coming with me so you can get trapped and get Claire _killed_.” It was brutish, but it had the effect Dean was angling for, Castiel’s face going pale and sick. He looked away when his eyes watered again.

Sam’s gaze was a little rebuking. “What’s a story you tell her?” he asked gently, gaze softening when it landed on Castiel.

“What?” Castiel said.

“Our mom always sang _Hey Jude_ instead of any other lullaby. When we were kids, it was like a code for us to know whoever we were talking to was safe,” Sam explained quickly and Dean shifted a little at having that revealed, but otherwise said nothing. “Even if you don’t have _that_ , you have a story,” he picked up the stuffed astro-bear from it’s place on the couch, “there’s always a _story_.”

Castiel took the bear back, before swallowing and wiping his cheek. He heaved a sigh and extended the bear towards Dean. “This is Wiggy,” he croaked, face caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “She decided I’m Space Man and she’s my little alien princess.”

Dean took the bear and nodded. “Got it.”

Jody motioned them all away as soon as they looked at her. “Nothing’s getting him while I’m here,” she said, “Go get the kid.”

In the impala, Sam gave directions and put Charlie back on speaker. “Anything special we’re walking into?” he asked, because Charlie was one of the few friends they had with enough tact to not just blurt out when something looked like it was headed towards a firefight.

“Abandoned library, floor plans say there’s a rare-books vault in the basement. I’m working on getting eyes inside, but there’s ten guys standing guard outside. We counted no less than fifteen going in,” Charlie said tersely, causing Sam and Dean’s eyebrow to raise in tandem. “No _apparent_ monsters, but…”

“That’s still a lot of guys for one lil’ girl,” Benny observed.

Dean heard him checking his gun and did his own mental tallying of how much gun power he had in the trunk, how willing he was to use it with an innocent in the mix.

“Yeah, so what else they got in there, Charlie?” Dean asked. There were a few minutes of silence following that Dean knew better than to interrupt.

“Just guards,” Charlie said finally. “Twenty two inside, most on the ground floor. There’s a basement entrance around back, though.”

Sam looked up from the map. “You see Claire?”

“No, but the vault down the stairs has a guard facing inward and Enochian warding on the door.”

Dean nodded at that. “So no surprises?” he asked. “Holy oil coating the floor, summoning spells, _zombie politicians_?” He was a both-feet-first sort of guy and he _had_ seen weirder things, but it never hurt to have a heads up.

“Nothing else inside that I can see. Even the leftover _books_ are pretty garden variety, the rare stuff’s all been moved,” Charlie answered. “But like Benny said, that’s _way_ too much security for a toddler, even if she is non-human. Best guess is they gotta be waiting for someone…”

It went without saying that someone with that much security before they even turned up to the location would be no small fish. Obviously, someone the Men of Letters should be aware of, if they weren’t already. That left potential for a lot of bad outcomes to this night.

“Do we wait for the ‘someone’?” Sam finally asked like he didn’t even like giving voice to the question.

“No,” Dean replied instantly, pushing the speedometer past eighty. “How clear is the route to Claire?”

Charlie hummed. “Got your silencers?”

“Course we do,” Benny answered.

“Clear enough, then,” she chirped. “They’re making rounds, so ditch the car and wait for my mark.”

Dean pulled the car into the turnoff Sam pointed out and shut off the engine. Once they had armed up (and Dean had shoved Wiggy into his jacket), they started through the brush along the edge of the subdivision. Benny – with his, for-all-intents-and-purposes _night vision_ – led them easily, one hand on his gun, the other hand with his claws out. The library wasn’t exactly in an abandoned location, though it appeared that the rest of the stores in the surrounding block had similarly closed up shop a while ago. The only people in direct view were the guys posted outside, _trying_ to look like they were just having a parking lot party while _actually_ looking like someone had accidently tipped over a tub of GI Joes that didn’t really like each other.

“There’re four guys around back right now,” Charlie said over the lines when they stepped into the alley of the building next door. “I got the radios jammed, so if they stick to schedule, they shouldn’t notice you for at least seven minutes.”

“Not a lot of time,” Sam replied softly.

“I can fudge their voices to respond to the check in, but there’s no guarantee it’ll work,” Charlie said. “Assume you’ll have company in _seven minutes_.”

Dean pulled out his gun. “Got it. Can you direct us once we’re inside?”

Charlie scoffed, offended. “With my eyes shut.”

Dean huffed an almost-laugh, pre-action adrenaline kicking in. Sam shook his head, turning to Benny. “Can you do it in two minutes, Benny?”

Benny smirked at him. “I’ve never broken a minute forty.”

“Well, don’t start,” Dean said and Benny was strolling back into the woods.

It was a familiar set up and they knew how to get through it almost without prior discussion. Dean watched around the side of the building as the guards whipped around at the bush rustling across from them. They turned guns first and called out – _good choice_ – but two of them still stalked forward to investigate with the sort of boldness exhibited by guys not used to getting jumped – _bad choice._ The scene was just as satisfying as it always was as Dean slid out of hiding, Sam right at his heels. The man standing at the edge of the brush jostled it with the barrel of his gun only to get snatched into it with no more than a half-aborted yelp, his buddy following not a second later. By the time his buddy had opened his mouth to shout, Dean and Sam had them both pinned to the ground.

The guys put up a valiant fight, but by the time Benny was lumbering out of the dark, looking no worse for the wear but for the blood he wiped off his mouth  (that was almost certainly not his), Dean had one guard out cold and Sam was bounding the other with his own belt.

“Minute thirty seven,” Charlie informed them, sounding impressed, but didn’t wait for a response. “There’s going to be another two guys when you open the door,” she said, “one’s pacing and I’ll loop the feed when he rounds the corner. Wait for the lock to click.”

They moved in around the door, practically holding their breaths until the emergency exit lock popped open and Benny snatched open the door. Dean moved in so quickly, the first guy had barely stood up right before getting punched hard enough that his head bounced off the wall behind him, Sam shooting his buddy over Dean’s shoulder. Benny rushed in, kicking the man’s gun away, then kicking him once in the head for good measure. The radios and the rest of the hallway stayed silent.

“All the doors should be unlocked,” Charlie said. “Hang a right through the glass ones and the stairs are at the end of the hall. Two guys at the top of the stairs, one guy at the bottom.”

They didn’t respond to her, but Dean knew she caught the quick nod they shared via the surveillance camera.

The objective was to get in and out without letting any alarms sound, obviously, but Dean also didn’t want to test whether or not the vault door was bullet proof. “Let us know if they open the vault,” he said lowly.

Charlie had barely responded “ _roger_ ” when Dean opened the door and strode into the hallway.

“Pete, your goddamn pacing is getting on my last nerve,” someone barked from around the corner, “You don’t need to patrol _us._ ”

When nobody answered, he came to investigate. One of the many reasons to take a step back when you round a blind corner is so you don’t get your gun snatched out of your hand, like Sam Winchester snatched the gun out of that man’s hand and gave him a concussion with it. Dean heard the last guy try to radio for help only for the radio to scream back at him. Upon having four guns – one stolen – trained on him, he sneered but otherwise went down pretty easily.

“Men of fucking Letters,” he spat, dropping his gun, “I told them, I _told_ them this city was too heavy with you fucks.”

“Told who?” Sam said, but didn’t sound like he expected an actual answer.

“I get paid, I don’t take pictures,” the man snapped back, just before Sam cold cocked him.

“Charlie?” Dean said.

“I _do_ take pictures and we’ll look through them all later,” she responded, “Two minutes.”

Dean didn’t have to even ask Sam and Benny to cover him as he hastily pulled out his pocket knife and scraped off the ward on the outside of the door. It seemed like the air itself groaned when he pushed the heavy lock aside and it swung open. Blinking in the dim light, he hardly had time to take in the extensive and _extremely well done_ warding inside the room before his eyes fell on a little blonde head huddled, whimpering in the corner.

He stepped further inside, feeling the magic around him put his hair on end, but otherwise let him pass unscathed. “Claire?” he said, gentle as he could muster.

The little girl looked up at him, startled. Though her face was blotchy and covered in tears, and it smelled like she may have wet herself, she seemed otherwise unharmed.

Dean sighed with relief and pulled out the little bear, shaking it at her. “The Space Man sent me and Wiggy to get his little alien princess,” he said and watched Claire’s eyes go wide before clenching shut as she began to cry.

“I want my daddy,” she sobbed, clutching her hair tight against her face.

Dean crouched in front of her. “I know, kid. If you shut your eyes, I’ll take you to him,” he held his hand out, “Can you do that for me?”

Claire nodded hesitantly, but didn’t move other than to reach out for him. He put Wiggy in her arms before sliding her half under his jacket and holding her tight against his side. “Keep ‘em shut tight, ok?” Dean said, when she tucked her face against his throat, “Might sound a lil’ scary for a minute.”

“A literal minute, Dean, alarms about to go off,” Charlie said.

Their exodus was a lot quicker than their entrance actually, Benny and Sam heading up and clearing the corridor ahead before hustling towards the back door. The alarm got one ring off before Charlie shut it down, but it was enough for them to start running. Dean pressed against the wall when Sam opened the back door and Benny jumped out fangs first.

Over the soft _pff-pff_ of Sam’s silencer, a discarded walkie disjointedly shouted “ _They’re—ded—left! Towards Bryer!_ ” and Dean grinned at Charlie’s brilliance, bolting out to the right towards the car. He could hear shouting and engines pouring out in the opposite direction. Claire had started to cry again, but he shushed her breathlessly as they ran. Benny again out in front of them in the darkness, slowing his pace so his human friends could keep up.

They waited, crouched in breathless silence on the far side of Baby until Benny sighed, “They’re headin’ south. Can’t hear any cars checking this way, clever girl.”

“You keep me around for a reason,” Charlie sang. “Claire ok?”

“Is it over?” Claire asked right on cue, voice tiny and frightened.

Dean laughed, patting her back. “All over,” he lied, because she was a kid and didn’t need to know there was probably a bounty on her head. She turned her head nervously to her surroundings.

“It dark,” she observed nervously.

“Nothing out there’s gonna get you with us,” Benny said, face impeccably clear of blood by the time her eyes caught on him. “They didn’t hurt you too bad, did they, angel?”

Claire shook her head against Dean’s neck. “Where’s my daddy?”

“We’re going to him right now,” Sam said, standing and they all followed suit, holding his hand out.

Dean had a moment of confusion until a frown creased his brows. He couldn’t drive with Claire in his lap and somebody had to hold her; judging by the death grip she had on the back of his shirt, she had no intention of being passed to someone else.

“Man up,” Benny coughed under his breath, sliding into the passenger seat and Dean shot him a withering look.

“If you hurt Baby,” Dean warned, dropping the keys in Sam’s hands who just rolled his eyes and got in the car.

“I’m not a baby,” Claire supplied helpfully, peeking up at Dean’s face.

Dean just smiled at her tightly and got in the backseat.


	3. Chapter 3

They didn’t make Castiel wait until they made the drive all the way back to his house, texting Jody as soon as they’d made certain they weren’t followed. Dean – who was used to Castiel’s ability to just _show up_ – warned Sam to pull the car into a parking lot so he wouldn’t accidentally crash. Leaning against Baby’s hood, Dean was the only one ready for it when Jody’s headlights came into view _way_ at the end of the road and Claire twisted in his arms.

“Daddy?” she whimpered about a half second before Castiel suddenly popped into existence before them.

Benny and Sam jerked back on reflex, but Claire craned out of Dean’s grasp instantly. “ _Daddy!!_ ” she screamed, some mix of joy and tears in her voice as she tumbled into Castiel’s arms.

“ _Claire_ ,” Castiel said back, scratchily, but Dean watched as his face broke into a grin, kissing all over Claire’s face as she whined and giggled. He was surprised to find the ache in his chest was genuinely affectionate, as if his heart didn’t know what to do with happiness anymore. The thought hit him so off center he didn’t realize he was staring until he felt Sam staring at him. Benny and Sam had already moved away to give Castiel a moment and Dean, belatedly, followed suit.

“Shut up,” he muttered as soon as he got close to Sam.

“I wasn’t going to say anything, Dean,” Sam sighed without looking at him.

“…Ok just what the hell is that tone?” Dean snapped because he couldn’t help himself. He knew few things in the world as well as he knew his brother and he knew when Sam was making a thinly-veiled effort not to, quote unquote, ‘ _Handle Him_ ’.

“Just…” Sam lowered his voice, “whatever it is, Dean, shelve it until we get Claire off the target, ok?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Dean whispered back.

“Yeah, but not _all_ you’re trying to do,” Sam answered, casting a glance over to where Castiel was interestedly responding to what was surely mostly unintelligible babbling from Claire.

Dean didn’t follow his eyes, sneering even as he felt his face go hot. “Don’t go all chick flick on me right now, we have a job to do.”

“That’s my _point_ , Dean,” Sam shot back, then looked sympathetic enough that Dean’s stomach twisted. “You went years without even being able to say his name. You were so screwed up when he left you and I _know_ you want him back.”

Dean didn’t need to be reminded.

It had been a rough year all around, full of loss and bad cases and near misses. Castiel had been there, to hold him through all of it; with his weird quirks of humor, and his steady, soothing hands, and his unshakable patience that Dean somehow managed to upend. Castiel had wanted things Dean couldn’t let himself hear at the time, words he had kissed out of Castiel’s mouth, distracted and urgent before they could fully form. He wanted Castiel more than anything, so he found dozens of ways to avoid questions he couldn’t answer. There was a space between them that Dean couldn’t bridge, hadn’t known how to.

Even still, Castiel had loved him the whole time, profoundly so, even in the end when he said into Dean’s voicemail, “ _Looking at you would make this too hard. I can’t see you again._ ”

Dean felt the same slow explosion in his chest he felt every time he thought too long about that and, from the way Sam had gone still, it must’ve shown on his face. It’d been years, _years_ ; there had been time, distance, and other lovers in between, Dean had made an _effort_ to get over Castiel before he realized there _was no moving on._ The men and women he met after Cas had all been wonderful, he’d been faithful, he even _loved_ some of them, but in the end he knew it wasn’t fair to any of them. He’d _found_ the one, his other half, whatever other stupid expression for soulmate there was out there; Dean had found him. Castiel was the love of his life and he couldn’t abandon him, even if he couldn’t _have_ him, either.

And he _couldn’t._ Castiel had shut that door.

“So _what_?” Dean snapped, “That doesn’t matter now.”

“Yeah, it does, because he’s _here_ now. He was scared to _death_ and his first call was _you,_ ” Sam replied quickly, glancing up as Jody’s car finally pulled into the lot. “I know you’re trying not to think about it, but with Claire safe for now?” He grabbed Dean’s wrist and until that moment, Dean hadn’t even realized he was still holding Wiggy, having saved him from the asphalt when Claire had leapt for her dad.

“I can see in your eyes what that means to you,” Sam continued softly. “You’re thinking about this… like it’ll be the long run.”

Dean was running out of patience for this exchange, for Sam calling out the fledgling hope he’d been trying to beat out of his mind. He shoved it away, because hope was what got you hurt. “ _So what?_ What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” Sam pressed his lips together, choosing his words carefully. “If y’all _both_ aren’t willing to go all the way down this road, don’t pretend this is the start. We aren’t off this case, Dean.”

There was a scathing response to that right on the tip of Dean’s tongue, but he luckily never got the chance to say it, Castiel calling out to him. It annoyed him that his heart tripped at the sound, but when he turned to find Castiel, his eyes bright with tears, coming towards him, it tripped again.

Castiel caught him in a tight hug, one arm around Dean’s neck and the other holding Claire to his side. “I can never thank you enough for this,” he gasped quietly, “There’s no way I can ever repay you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Dean patted Castiel’s back until he pulled back to look at him. For all that they weren’t related, Castiel and Claire still looked at him with the same wide-eyed wonder that made him squirm. He smiled, though. “Just what I’m—we’re here for.”

Jody jogged up to them looking slightly frazzled (probably at having Castiel disappear from her car doing forty down a dark road), but she smiled brightly when she saw Claire.

“Thanks to you,” Castiel said and his face twisted with the weight of it, smiling at Claire half in tears. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

They all shifted, smiling in acknowledgement of his gratitude. Dean let Sam be the one to break the brief silence.

“It’s probably best to avoid your apartment until we figure out exactly who took Claire and what they want,” Sam explained, speaking as if he were trying to soften the hit of understanding he was delivering to Castiel’s joy, “We’ll get you a security detail, someone we can—”

“I’m on it,” Dean blurted out before he could think better of it, ignoring the way Sam’s face twisted into _this-is-exactly-what-I-meant_ mode. “Got more than enough space.”

“Easier than outsourcing,” Benny agreed with an easy shrug, because _of course_ he’d overheard and he was a romantic and an enabler. He was also immune to the sharp look Sam shot him.

“Would you?” Castiel responded hopefully, before Sam got the chance to interject.

Sam looked subtly to Jody as a last ditch attempt at restoring reason, but heaved a sigh when she just gave him an apologetic facial shrug. “It’s probably better to stay in-house if we don’t know who we’re dealing with,” she admitted, “I already had him prepare a go-bag.”

“Sounds great,” Dean replied. He would’ve clapped to indicate the finality of it, but he still had a toy in his hand. Instead, he handed the bear back towards its rightful owner. “I think the three of us can manage together for a while.”

Claire blinked at him owlishly, tucking Wiggy against her chest.

There was a plan for them to call with details tomorrow afternoon after they’d gotten some rest, once Castiel was safely in Dean’s apartment and Jody had the opportunity to get back to her day-job to see how far they’d managed to stay off the radar. Tomorrow afternoon would begin and end with everyone up to their elbows sorting through evidence and calling contacts.

For now, Benny and Sam patted their shoulders in parting and Jody got back into Dean’s passenger seat.

Dean had never once even considered modifying his Baby, but for some reason, it felt oddly, _ominously_ permanent when he helped Castiel strap Claire’s car seat into the back after Castiel had changed her clothes. It quite blatantly didn’t fit in, but there was still something funny about pastel plaid against black leather and— He paused mid-thought, jerking back when Claire’s finger was suddenly in his face.

Dean looked back at her, confused. “What?”

“That’s Dean,” Castiel supplied helpfully, buckling himself in beside her, then repeated it when Claire looked at him intently.

“Dee!” she muttered, pointing at him again.

Dean laughed uncomfortably. “Close enough, C.”

When he got into the front seat, he didn’t even have to look over to catch the conflicted, if deeply amused, smile on Jody’s face.


	4. Chapter 4

When Claire mumbled something about being hungry, Dean broke his own car rules and pulled into a fast-food joint without comment. Castiel still looked a little stressed to eat, but Dean bit his tongue and handed him a carton of fries anyway and got Claire a kids meal, toy from her favorite cartoon and all. She was so pleased, she sang him every song from the show on the way to the apartment, right up until she fell asleep in her fries and Castiel fell asleep draped over her car seat.

Dean was almost loathed to wake him, the temptation to carry him popping up stupidly in the back of his mind, when he parked.

Castiel awoke instantly, but still looked around dazedly when he got out of the car. “Oh, _wow_.”

It wasn’t exactly embarrassment that colored Dean’s face, but he still shifted awkwardly, looking up from where he was pulling their duffle bag out of the trunk. “Oh. Yeah, I’m, uh…” he glanced around the private part of the garage, at the gleaming cars surrounding them. It was just a side venture, actually, fixing up oldies. Baby the Impala was the only one he was _keeping,_ but they were all still pretty impressive to look at in the meanwhile. “I’m still a car guy. Now, with enough cash to be a Car Guy.” He gently shut the trunk, continued speaking in a hushed tone, “Hobbies that make you money are awesome.”

“I see,” Castiel blinked, rocking Claire in his arms. When they finally reached his apartment, Castiel’s brow tweaked with confusion at the size of it. “Does Sam live here, too?”

Dean realized, with a pang of nostalgia, that he and Sam had been living together last Castiel would’ve known. “Nah, him and Benny are shacked…he and Benny live together uptown,” he gestured vaguely as he led the way to the living room, “This is all mine.”

“This is all yours,” Castiel repeated and Dean turned to find him standing frozen a few paces past the entry way.

For some reason, he felt the need to amend. “I—well, I mean Bobby lives on the other half of the floor,” he explained, pointing back towards the door, “And I rent out all the upper floors. Mostly to, uh…” He paused.

It was a single building, not even a proper high rise, so Dean knew just about everyone that lived here on a first name basis. Some were just here by chance, but Dean was always careful to leave a few rooms purposefully empty – many tenants came here specifically and he didn’t want to have to turn them out. Good people who’d gotten in a pinch and heard whispers that Dean Winchester, Man of Letters, wouldn’t let anything happen to them if they kept it straight and narrow. An angel hiding out from his church, a young vampire who’d been turned against her will, a woman and her son trying to keep away from an ex Dean would pile drive on sight… Huh.

“Well, to folks like you, actually,” he admitted, “We have good community and even better security, for humans and anything else.” When Castiel just stared at him, he couldn’t help but squirm, “What?”

“You own the building,” Castiel said flatly.

It occurred to Dean, then, that a decade apart had left more than just unspoken emotions in its wake. The Men of Letters hadn’t been nearly as stable or profitable when he and Castiel first met. It had been a small, bloodline organization that had later grown to include not only “outsiders”, but non-humans as well. The days of an understaffed office and shitty-if-any payouts were pretty much over.

“Yeah, Cas. I’m doing pretty good for myself these days.” Dean motioned him further inside, “Doing pretty good for other people, too.”

Castiel seemed to chew on that for a moment before following, a bit self-consciously. “The Men of Letters don’t normally deal with small fish, do you?”

Dean glanced at him. “Sometimes we get clients who pay us small fortunes to sign NDAs about what and who we’re dealing with. But we’re a private security and investigative agency willing to help out just about anyone we can. This place is… _our_ project, just the Winchesters,” he explained. He recognized his tone had turned fond, but did nothing to stop it as he looked around his apartment. “After he stepped down as the head of MoL, Bobby helped Sam and I put it together it a few years back to do exactly what I’m doing right now.” He look at Castiel earnestly, “You’re not small fish, Cas. Not to me.”

Castiel cast his gaze down to Claire’s sleeping face, an excuse to look away, but not before Dean noticed something like pride mixed with the sheepishness in his eyes.

Dean led the way to one of the guest rooms, dropping Castiel’s bag inside the door. “I wasn’t expecting anyone, but the sheets should be clean?” he mumbled the last part, turning them down to check, “Sheets are clean and there’s soap and towels in the bathroom—” he noticed the way Castiel was staring at him, recognized the warmth spreading in his chest in response to the warmth in Castiel’s gaze. He turned away and pointed down the hall, speaking a little too quickly, “My office and my bedroom are right down there if you need anything. Help yourself to the kitchen. If Claire needs anything, I can take you to buy it in the morning, so—”

“Dean…” Castiel whispered.

For a moment, Dean thought he’d been about to wake up Claire with his rambling and Castiel was trying to sooth him quieter. But before he could open his mouth to murmur an apology, Castiel was stepping towards him, carefully shifting Claire to one side.

Dean was so good at forgetting his own pain, it occasionally didn’t occur to him what he looked like. For instance, he had nearly forgotten he’d tweaked his shoulder and gotten his lip busted on the previous case until Castiel’s fingers pressed to his forehead.

The sensation of Castiel’s grace under his skin, healing the bruises on his face and soothing his joints, was as familiar as it was dearly missed. Dean held his breath and didn’t shut his eyes, didn’t lean into the touch even when Castiel finished and moved to just hold his face. He didn’t turn to kiss his wrist.

“Thank you so much for bringing my little girl home,” Castiel breathed softly. He looked adoring and exhausted and Dean was distantly aware of the fact that he would do anything for Castiel. Instead of twisting his insides, it settled something in him; he was going to figure all this out, even if only so Castiel never looked this tired again.

Dean put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, hoping he wasn’t smiling like a love-struck fool. “I wouldn’t accept anything else, Cas. We’re gonna figure this thing out,” he said, then continued softly, “You gonna be ok tonight?”

Castiel tilted his head. “We’re here with you. I imagine we’ll be more than ok,” he answered neutrally, like it was just a simple statement of fact and in no way made Dean feel like he was glowing inside.

They stepped away from each other without the air of awkwardness Dean had expected, though he could still feel longing sitting hard in his chest. He smiled and wished the still sleeping Claire sweet dreams, making her father smile, and he left them to go through their nightly routine in peace.

The smile fell from his lips pretty easily when he shut the door behind him, though.

Dean had been doing this long enough to know better. Getting Claire back had been entirely too easy, given the effort put in to take and conceal her. If Castiel hadn’t called Dean, effectively calling in The Men of Letters personally, this story might have ended very differently.

“ _You don’t drug an angel and steal their Nephilim kid on a whim_ ,” Sam had said.

No, you most certainly did not. The list of reasons someone might were long and varied enough that it would keep Dean up all night if he let it.

By the time he’d finally gotten to sleep, he’d ruled out religious purists (if they’d wanted Claire dead because she was a Nephilim, they would’ve done it) and pagan ritualists (the calendar was wrong and if they’d wanted Claire dead, they would’ve done it). When he got up to make breakfast, he was in the middle of thinking back through the last case the MoL had covered involving Nephilim, wondering where that file even _was_ when he walked into his living room and stopped dead.

Castiel, standing barefoot in his pajamas in the kitchen, his face still puffy with sleep as he prepared a sippy cup of orange juice for Claire was more domesticity than had ever been in this kitchen at any one time.

“Good morning,” Castiel said and Dean did his best to respond like a normal human person. It was easier when Claire turned to smile at him, “Dee!”

After breakfast, Claire wound up in Dean’s arm for most of the morning, because apparently, she liked him and he was too soft to avoid the puppy dog eyes she made at him. When they got to the store, the pink on his face was continually and obviously misread as ‘joyous father’ as opposed to ‘embarrassed drifter-ex, unused to babies’, which seemed to quietly amuse Castiel. He was standing at the end of an isle, getting sympathetic looks from other men and getting politely ogled by women when his phone rang.

“Ring, ring, ring, banana phone,” Claire sang and nearly grabbed it from his hand. She laughed when he blew a raspberry in her face to distract her.

“Hey, Benny,” Dean answered.

“Mornin’, brother,” Benny answered, then chuckled when Claire muttered “ _Big Ben_ ” just loudly enough for him to hear. “How’re you liking your role in _Mr. Mom_?”

“Keep your day job, man.” Dean sneered, hoping Benny could hear it in his voice.

“If you insist,” Benny replied, sounding entirely too entertained, though it faded shortly after. “I’ll explain more when we come over, but I figured you’d want to know. After we split, some high rollers showed up.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose at that. “How high?”

“High enough that I know some of the faces, but none of the names,” Benny answered. “Demons out there, brother.”

“Well, sh—” Dean almost swore, but caught a sharp look from the woman pushing her buggy past. “Sugar.”

“Yeah?” Claire answered, looking up at him innocently. Dean smiled and bounced her on his waist, trying to think of a way to ask specifics without alarming the civilians.

“And the, uh…the tops, just black or were there some special colors?”

Run of the mill, black-eyed demons might just be dumb enough to try and climb up the ranks by stealing a Nephilim, but if there were any others, they might’ve just interrupted a bigger plot. Either way, it’d be a hassle to clean up and he – he hurried to follow Castiel into the next isle – didn’t want either of them out of his sight.

“Black, as per usual,” Benny answered slowly, alarmed enough to not even grief him about his phrasing. “Should I be looking for something else?”

Dean hummed noncommittally. “You got pictures for Charlie?”

“What’s that they say about where bears shit?” Benny responded and Dean was grieved he couldn’t give him the finger. “She and Sam are going through them now, but I’ll send you what I got.”

“Thanks, B,” he ended the call, and just in time, too, because Claire had reached the extent of her ability to entertain herself and needed to explain why being a space princess was better than having dragons and was Dean a king because he lived in a castle or a knight because he’s strong or, wait, couldn’t he be both, or maybe an astronaut?

For the most part, Claire seemed content to fill both sides of the conversation with very little input from Dean. When they got back to The Bunker, she was plenty content to sit on the floor beside Castiel – coloring while her father sent out emergency emails about missing work, under instruction to carefully exclude why he was gone or where he was.

Dean went back to his office to start digging through the old Nephilim case (a short and unhelpful read), before changing gears and looking into all recent clashes between angels and demons. Jody called to say nothing had popped up at the radar on the station about their little raid last night, so it seemed these guys weren’t the type to call the hospital for gunshot wounds. As a matter of fact, Jody couldn’t even find any of the _usual_ unusual stuff, which made Dean suspicious. The only times when the regular rabble shuttered their doors was when there was a bigger predator circling the area.

That thought made Dean tense irrationally when he heard the door buzzer, but he settled quickly with a glance at his phone. “It’s Sam!” he called to Castiel, before punching in the code to let Sam in wirelessly. He closed his laptop and shoved back from the desk.

“Dee!” Claire exclaimed when he came into view, holding out a crumpled piece of paper. “I drawed you!”

“You drew me?” Dean said, squatting down and taking the paper from her. He chuckled when he saw the over-muscled stick figure carrying a green blob with a bright pink tiara. When Sam strode into the room, he held it up for him with a grin, “Aw, shucks, it looks just like me.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty, she even got the head size right,” Sam joked quickly, scratching his chin with a smile that was entirely fake and made Dean’s blood run cold. “Hey, Cas. Hiya, Claire.”

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said as if he could feel the tension rolling off Sam, and was only restrained from panicking by not wanting to alarm Claire, who waved at Sam shyly, obliviously.

Dean stood smoothly, though it was an effort. “Something up?”

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Sam said, jerking his thumb towards the patio past the kitchen. “I need a consult.”

“Another case?”

“Maybe,” Sam answered, though it sounded a lot like, “ _No, but don’t I wish.”_

Sam walked past him stiffly and Dean glanced at Castiel, motioning for him to stay calm before following his brother out onto the balcony. Sam slid the door shut behind them and faced the street below, knuckles white on the iron railing and his shoulders a line of tension.

“Talk to me, Sammy.”

It took a few breaths for Sam to get his words together and the fear in his eyes was turning Dean’s stomach before he even spoke, “You remember Hell?”

The sunshine on the balcony suddenly felt out of abrasive, _scalding_ against the chill that radiated out from Dean’s core. Sam looked as sick as Dean felt.

‘Hell’ was the only name they’d needed to refer to the worst case of their lives, but they couldn’t have known how accurate the moniker would become.

Two years of deep cover, running with a gang of demons and Hell sympathizers, all under the command of the devil himself, someone known only by the name Lucifer. Dean had never laid eyes on the guy, but he could see the reverence he commanded in every single one of his officers. His followers, even while palpably terrified of him, venerated him past the point of lunacy and would do whatever he said without hesitation.

And if they were going to get to Lucifer, Dean had had to learn to do the same.

The gang named him _Righteous_ to be funny. ‘ _The Righteous Man’_ , they said, because he seemed like such a nice guy, but even from the beginning he never vomited, never flinched, no matter how hard they tried to shake him. They tried to rattle his teeth, Dean clenching his jaw and keeping his eyes forward all the while. But then Sam’s informant – _Ruby the Demon, who kissed Sam like she wanted to crawl inside him, who Sam might’ve even loved_ – dripped the word ‘ _snitch’_ in Lucifer’s ear and he believed her. Sam wound up lost at sea for weeks in which Dean could not flinch, because he had to keep it together to find him, had to embody someone else to find him.

_Righteous_ walked into a basement to find his baby brother strapped to a wall, already naked and already bloody – _seemed like more blood than skin_ – and there was the demon with the yellow eyes, there was Prince Azazel, pressing a familiar scalpel into his hand and—

Dean didn’t really have nightmares about anything else.

Yeah, he remembered Hell, he remembered every goddamn second of that case. He turned towards Sam, sensing where this was going and not liking it a single shit. “Is that even a real question?”

Sam reached into his jacket and passed Dean a photo of a man standing in a line. He didn’t ring as particularly familiar to Dean except in the sense that he could be anyone – average build, blond, white guy. Or, rather, at _some_ point he could’ve been just anyone, but now his Average Joe face was covered in angry red burns. Dean waited for an explanation.

“This guy?” Sam began shakily, without looking at Dean or the picture, “That’s the…” He stopped, swallowing, pressing harshly on the scar on his hand, “when I was kidnapped, the one who…”

Dean’s blood ran hot, filling in the blanks of what Sam had never been able to say with the medical report he had forced himself to read, the thing that finally made the Righteous Man heave. The only name Sam had been able to give when he woke up, hallucinating and hysterical, a curse that took weeks and dozens of resources to break. “Someone got a picture of _Lucifer_?”

“ _We_ got a picture of Lucifer,” Sam corrected and Dean felt the world shift under his feet.

“ _What?_ Where?”

“The Tea Leaf,” Sam answered and Dean could hardly hear over the pounding in his own ears. “Charlie didn’t recognize him, but I was going over the tapes with her and… he wasn’t scarred like that last time, but,” he pointed, mouth twisting like the words were sour in his throat, “that’s him.”

The information spun around Dean’s head, twisting itself into a knot he couldn’t sort out. There was no way Castiel, who’d been gone for almost two years by the start of the case, could in anyway have been connected to it. There were no crossed streams there, Dean never told Castiel anything about cases that big and never _once_ mentioned any of his significant others to the goons in Hell. But _someone_ had to have found out, because the alternative was an impossibility. The alternative was that Castiel had willingly associated himself with Lucifer and jumped ship just before everything went to shit.

Either the love of Dean’s life had lied to him or was being used against him because Castiel was the person with the biggest weak spot and none of the training to protect her.

The fact that the latter was significantly more likely just made guilt press down heavy on Dean’s shoulders, nearly blurring his vision. Nine years and miles apart was still not enough to keep Castiel from Dean’s bullshit. Castiel had run right back to the reason he and his daughter were in danger in the first place.

“Fuck,” he hung his head, let out a laugh that was no humor and all horror. “ _Fuck._ ”

“It might not be like that,” Sam said, because he knew his brother better than anyone and often thought of the same awful conclusions. “Our covers were solid, _Charlie_ made them. It might not—”

“What else _could_ it be?” Dean snapped.

“ _Ask_ , Dean!” Sam shot then took a controlling breath, looking straight up. “This is still a case, you ask the vic what they know. Even if they don’t think they know it, you talk to them.” He looked over at his brother, tense with thinly veiled fear, “I don’t think he betrayed you, but he might not realize he kept something secret that was relevant.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m…” The wind dropped out of Sam’s sails, and Dean watched him consciously force his face calm. “I’m saying ask him about this guy.”

Dean tried to do the same before he turned and opened the door, but clearly didn’t do a good enough job. Castiel tensed as soon as they reentered the room.

“Hey, C,” Dean crouched down by where Claire was playing with blocks, motioning to Sam. “You remember my little brother Sammy?”

Claire bobbed her head in a little nod, but pointed out, “He’s big!”

Sam laughed at her, still strained around the eyes, but – as always, like a true soft-serve giant – happier in the presence of children. “Guess I am!”

Dean smiled at her, too. “Do you think you can play with him while I talk to your daddy for a minute?” he asked, “He’s a really smart type, he probably knows a bunch about space.”

Claire’s face lit up, but she seemed to think on that, turning to Castiel. “Is he a stranger?”

Castiel chuckled, reaching down to stroke her hair. “No, Sam is daddy’s friend. You can play with him.”

And that was enough for her, so Sam sat down on the floor across from her, easily launching into a story about the history of some constellation Dean probably couldn’t even pick out on the clearest night. When Dean looked away from them, Castiel was staring at him.

 “Come to my office for a second,” he said, rising and turning down the hallway without waiting. He could feel Castiel’s nerves spiking the closer they got to the door, he was unsurprised when Castiel closed the door before Dean could even turn around properly.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean didn’t even know where to begin. He folded his arms and leaned against the desk.

“This might sound crazy, but does the name Lucifer mean anything to you?” he asked, but knew the answer before Castiel even opened his mouth, watching the way his face went pale and tight. He huffed sardonically, stomach twisted, “Guess it’s not so crazy after all?”

“I don’t know how you know about Lucifer,” Castiel said shakily, “but this has nothing to do with him. We haven’t had contact in years.”

“How many?” Dean asked tightly, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

“Almost _twenty_ ,” Castiel answered, “I was in high-school, _miles_ from here. He doesn’t even know where I am, why?”

Dean let that sit for a moment, but couldn’t read any guilt off Castiel’s expression. He felt his jaw tick as he raised the photo Sam had given him, extending it out to Castiel. “That him?”

Castiel looked confused, before his face warped with disbelief and horror. “What happened to his face?” he gasped, taking the picture from Dean and nearly collapsing into the desk chair. In the next second, the pallor on his face took on a new level of horror, “Is he in the coffee shop?”

“About ten minutes before you walked in,” Dean confirmed. “Paid the counter kid to spike your drink.”

Castiel looked up at him sharply, slowly returning his gaze to the image, confusion and pain clear on his face. “I didn’t even know he…” His words ran out, seemingly unsure as to what he even meant to imply.

“How do you know him?” Dean broke into the silence.

“How do _you_ know him?”

“ _I asked first_ ,” Dean snapped and Castiel’s face went flat, the equivalent of an indignant flinch on anyone else. “Cas, we’ve been looking for this guy for _years._ He’s on 3 most wanted lists, including ours.”

That, at least, put a wary look on Castiel’s face. “…What did he do?”

The impulse to tell Castiel the whole awful truth was more than a little counterproductive, but the temptation was still there. Dean’s imagination spun off dizzily between the way Castiel would surely look ill to be near him, the memories themselves, and a concerted effort to not think about either of those things. Sitting down on the storage trunk beside his desk, Dean forced himself to choose his words carefully.

“Think hard about what it is that I do for a living, the horrible things I’d have to see, and understand me when I say, Lucifer’s case is the worst thing that ever happened to me,” Dean said tightly. “The things he did, the things he forced _us_ to do, I never want to say out loud to another living soul. Cas, he almost _killed Sammy_ ,” the confession came out with the same breathless terror it always did and Dean had to stop for a moment, shove the memories away before he got lost in them. “Think about what that would’ve done to me. And ask me the question again.”

Castiel swallowed several times, before looking away.

“Lucifer is just a moniker he picked up when I was a kid,” he said eventually, putting the picture on the desk, away from him. “He… His name is Nick Shurley.”

“Shurley?” Dean repeated, recognition piquing distantly, “There a reason that rings a bell?”

 “Yes, it…” Castiel shifted uncomfortably, before looking back to Dean with the resignation of a man before a firing squad.  “It’s my father’s last name. Nick is my older brother.”


	5. Chapter 5

The shock about knocked Dean off his seat.

He found himself standing away from Castiel, an irrational fear tightening in his chest, unable to reconcile the angel before him with _the devil who almost ruined his life._

Castiel was standing as well, looking taxed, “Dean…”

“I think I’d remember you mentioning a brother named _Lucifer!_ ” Dean exclaimed.

“I never mentioned him, I don’t talk about him at all, he…” Castiel sucked in a breath, jaw tensing and it was only then Dean noticed the subtle shaking in his hands. “If you know him, then you know he’s… I was…” his mouth wavered, “Dean, I spent years of my childhood with him.”

It was startlingly clear what Castiel was trying to get across. “You’re afraid of him.”

The look on Castiel’s face was savage. “ _What do you think?_ ”

Dean didn’t let the tone sting him. “You saying he’s always been like this?” he asked, “Starting fires and torturing cats as a toddler?”

Castiel winced. “He’d moved on from cats when I was born,” he whispered and Dean felt a little sick at the vacantness in his eyes. “Dad said he wasn’t always… But for as long as I remember, Nick was always—”

“A sadist?”

Castiel pressed his lips together, nodding shortly.

Dean sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose and sitting back down. He turned, snagging his phone off his desk and pointing back at the desk chair as he punched hit Charlie’s contact. “You’re going to tell me everything,” he said, “and this time I mean _everything_.”

Charlie answered on the second ring, stressed. “Dean, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t warn Sam. I didn’t recognize him from the sketch, I— Dean, _Lucifer?_ ”

“I know, kiddo. I’m putting you on speaker,” Dean cut in, looking up at Castiel who was still standing stiffly before him. “Cas has a story for us.”

Sitting down seemed to take an effort this time, but when Castiel heard Claire’s laughter bright and easy from down the hall his face changed. When he looked up again, he looked ready to soldier through anything. “Where do I start?”

“When did you last see him?” Dean asked, setting the phone between them.

“When I ran away in high school,” Castiel answered. “Dad had been gone for years and Michael was… I couldn’t stay with Michael or the others, so I ran.”

Dean remembered that part. “You went to live with Gabriel?”

Gabriel was not Dean’s favorite person, even though they’d only met a few times, but he didn’t appear to be nearly as douchey as Michael. A punk, yeah, but not a straight up asshole like the rest of Castiel’s siblings. He took Castiel into his tiny apartment with little fanfare and waved him off to college much the same. Dean hadn’t even thought about him in years.

Castiel’s face turned exasperatedly fond. “Yes, I wound up with Gabe, but…” the fondness faded quickly, “before I got to him, Nick found me. He was already going by Lucifer at that point, though.”

“What’d he want?”

“He thought… I was finally like him,” Castiel answered. “A lot of my family believed humans are the reason angels fell from grace,” he continued softly, “That the reason we can’t hear God any more is because we’ve… humanized too much.”

“Lucifer disagrees?” Charlie asked.

Castiel shook his head, before his eyes flicked towards the phone. “No, not exactly. My family was a part of a sect that believed we should just leave humanity behind in a quest for… _holiness_ , I guess,” he explained, but his mouth quirked like he didn’t quite believe it. “Lucifer thinks we shouldn’t just avoid you we… should eliminate you.”

“So the world’s most sadistic eugenicist, great,” Dean sighed.

“No, it’s not—” Castiel’s mouth thinned out and Dean was really not willing to hear sympathy for the devil, but Castiel shook his head at the look on Dean’s face. “He doesn’t just want _you_ gone, he wants everything, _all_ of God’s creations gone. The angels, too, he…” he swallowed, “He called me weak for not hating our siblings, but he _hated_ me for still…” His eyes cut up to Dean who went pink when he finished, “still loving humanity.”

Dean almost didn’t ask, but he had to know. “Did he know about me?” he asked, which was close enough to “ _Did you tell him about us_?” for Castiel to look aghast.

“ _No,_ ” Castiel said firmly, “I swear to you, the last time I spoke to him, I hadn’t even met you yet. After, Gabe was the only family I had. And, _no,_ ” he started before Dean could ask, “Gabe is backpacking across the world with his fiancé, he hasn’t been stateside in two years. I’m the only one who gets postcards.”

Dean stared him down, waiting for that answer to waver, but it never did.

“Well.” Charlie’s voice rang into the silence, “It seems like he found out _some_ way. This is too big of a coincidence.”

“What are you saying?” Castiel asked.

“He was trying to get to one of us,” Dean guessed aloud, with almost complete certainty, “It’s just a matter of which.”

“Yeah,” Charlie agreed, “but which of you changes a lot of variables, Dean, if Lucifer knows who—”

Dean took Charlie off speaker and motioned for Castiel to follow him out of the office. “Yeah, Charlie, I know that. Where’s Benny?”

“He’s riding out to talk to Ellen, why?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean sighed entering the living room.

Sam and Claire looked up from where he was drawing white crayon constellations on construction paper. Dean smoothed Claire’s hair down, grabbing his keys off the table. “Sam is going to stay here with you until I get back,” he said, slapping Sam’s shoulder.

“I am?” Sam asked, looking less than pleased at the prospect.

“Just for today,” Dean said. He met Sam’s gaze, “I’ll stay out of trouble.” Sam’s face went flat with the understanding that Dean wasn’t completely telling the truth, but would at least get in and out of whatever he was doing with minimal risk of bloodshed.

“What?” Castiel asked with thinly veiled panic, “Where are you going?”

“To do my job, Cas,” he answered, squeezing Castiel’s arm as he passed. “Take it easy.”

“Do you need me to find you back up?” Charlie asked as he stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the ground floor. “I can have Garth pull Cole off the cabinet banger down south? Half hour, tops.”

“Nah, just doing a little recon, kiddo. Nothing to worry about,” Dean waved her off quickly, “I’ll let you know if I find something.” For as well as they fought together, Cole didn’t like him very much at all. Also, if this was related to Hell – and there was basically no chance that it wasn’t – they needed to get a handle on what they were looking at before they brought in anyone who wasn’t already briefed beyond hearing rumors.

Because there wasn’t any way they could’ve kept something like the Hell case a secret after it all went to shit. Nobody except the immediate crew and Charlie had known the details of what went down, but everyone had seen the aftermath. The sympathetic anger that earned them Dean and Sam could handle, but the pity and tip-toing was too much. Dean didn’t want that back. He didn’t want anyone else in on this until there was a concrete plan.

And he needed intel for that.

The front door of the elevator opened to the lobby and Dean held open the door for the little shapeshifter girl – who gleefully called him Mr. D.W., a nickname he couldn’t prove but wholly believed Sam to be responsible for – before he strode out towards the front desk cum security booth.

“Bobby,” he said to the paperback novel manning the chair.

“Dean,” Bobby said, hardly glancing up, “Didn’t tell me Castiel was back around.”

Dean paused. “Who told you?” he asked, only to roll his eyes when Bobby arched an eyebrow at him. There wasn’t anything that happened in this building that Bobby didn’t know about, yeah, yeah, he got it. He didn’t get to be head of security by not paying attention. “Listen, I—”

“Y’all back together yet?” Bobby cut in because he was actually an unrepentant gossip hound, especially when annoyed.

“That’s not what this is about,” Dean said firmly even though his face went annoyingly warm at the curl of Bobby’s lip.

“Ain’t it?”

Dean ignored him. “I need to talk to Crowley.”

Bobby’s hand paused where he was turning a page, looking suspicious but otherwise entirely unimpressed. “And why in blue blazes is that?”

Dean knew better than to try and soften the blow. “Lucifer’s back,” he said and watched Bobby’s face go drawn and serious without further comment.

Bobby shoved to his feet, turning to punch a code into a panel in the wall behind him. “Where?”

“Here,” Dean answered, walking to the door that clicked open beside the desk. “He’s after Castiel’s kid.”

When Dean closed the door behind him, stepping into the back office, Bobby looked like he had a number of questions about that, but was willing to set them aside at the look on Dean’s face. He was determined and, of course, angry, but not at Castiel. He wasn’t jealous or hurt, and Bobby would accept that. “Define after,” he said instead.

“He kidnapped her and sent Cas a picture with a _Colt_ to her head.”

“ _Jesus Christ,_ ” Bobby breathed, shaking his head and moving towards the filing cabinets against the back wall.

Dean gave him the abridged version of the happenings and everyone’s whereabouts. Bobby wasn’t the head of the Men of Letters anymore, but he was still a professional in the field, playing consultant to just about any hunter worth their clout. And, more to the point, Bobby was practically Sam and Dean’s dad. He knew more about what happened to them during the Hell case than anyone else; he’s a large part of the reason they made it through.

That was probably why he was hesitating to hand over that file he’d just pulled out. “Are you sure you want to—?”

“I’m not handing Lucifer over to someone else,” Dean interrupted, stepping forward, “This is _my_ case.”

Bobby snatched the folder out of reach. “ _Our_ case,” he corrected.

“Castiel is…” Dean stopped himself, the saccharine and possessive feelings turning his stomach slightly.

“Love of your goddamn life, I know,” Bobby barked. “So don’t go all Rambo and get yourself killed before you can tell him.” Dean tried not to feel like a cowed child when Bobby got in his face. “That Hell mess ain’t just on you, boy.”

They could fight all day about who was carrying the weight of Hell, about how and where it all went wrong. Dean spent weeks after, and even still the occasional sleepless night, going over everything again and again, hundreds of innocuous little nothings taunting him like signs that everything was about to collapse on their heads. It was an old fight and one they’d given up except in their own private moments. They’d all just agreed to blame Lucifer and raze his entire life the next time they got the chance. Aka, here and now.

Bobby eyed him for a moment longer before handing over a paper with an address for _Lucky the Leprechaun_. “Our ‘dear friend’ lives down in West Oaks, neighborhood just south of the state line. Gated community,” he slammed the cabinet back shut, “Borrow a uniform or something.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” he said, but stilled when Bobby caught him by the shoulder giving him a knowing and longsuffering look.

“If you’re gonna do something stupid, turn your GPS on first.”

Dean smirked, waving the paper with a wink. “Got it, Bobby.”

By the time Dean got back around to the front of the desk, Eileen had walked in with another little kid, both of them waving excitedly to Mr. D.W. before having a surprisingly thorough conversation with Bobby in sign language.

It left Dean to walk out of his building feeling good, determination and a plan in progress putting a new level of urgency in his step and lead in his foot when he got in his car.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean hated the neighborhood the second it came into view.

The perks of being as charming as Dean meant that it wasn’t hard to talk the auto shop guy into taking the rest of the day off to let Dean borrow a mobile repair truck and a spare uniform. If it came down to it, Dean _could_ repair just about anything that went wrong with just about any car, but as it was, he made it to West Oaks without being stopped by anyone but the security guard at the gate.

“State your business,” said Mr. Terminator, and Charlie said into Dean’s pilfered Bluetooth, “ _Matilda Vu has a teenage son with three DUI’s_.”

Dean shook his head with a wry and practiced smile. “Would you believe Mrs. Vu’s kid was at it again?” The rest of the conversation was easy-going and the guard laughed enough that he might ‘not remember’ Dean’s face if pressed by anyone unfriendly.

The neighborhood itself was all bullshit and plastic; rows of nearly identical, disgustingly manicured houses. All probably filled with neighbors that smiled at each other every day, but wouldn’t hesitate to kill one another with a rusty spoon in the _Purge_. Dean was not, however, above the ego stroking of getting checked out by every woman and several of the men he drove past.

Crowley’s house was surprisingly plain, no sign of anything that might indicate a demon was living inside. When he parked on the street and walked up the lawn, however, he got itchy with the feeling of magic – too light for the average person to pick up on. He glanced at the bird bath and noticed with a critical eye the angel warding mixed into the frivolous design work on the bowl. Nothing dangerous to him, but still something that sent a rush of something he couldn’t name through him. Crowley had been off the radar for years, there wasn’t any reason for him to be actively involved again unless it was something big.

A ritual involving Lucifer and a Nephilim kid would sure a shit qualify.

The weight of Dean’s gun – loaded with Devil’s trap bullets – was steadying even as it was concealed in the tool belt around his waist.

After knocking, Dean was surprised to have the door open to reveal a woman. Surprised for a number of reasons, starting with the fact that she was pretty and didn’t look prone to groveling as most of Crowley’s preferred girls had. In fact, she was looking at Dean like she might want to eat him alive – in the literal _and_ figurative sense.

Dean grinned at her. “Afternoon, ma’am. Can I talk to the man of the house?” he teased, “I have a delivery to drop off.”

The woman tittered at him, tossing her bright red hair over her shoulder to bat her eyes at him. “Ae, lad. But I’d bet the man of the house isn’t nearly as interested in your package as I am.” The way she sized him up was not subtle and Dean laughed.

“I’ll bet,” he responded, tipping his ball cap to her, but then shook his clip board demonstratively, “but he’s still got to sign off on it, ma’am.”

“Oh, the boy’d just love that,” she rolled her eyes, “And it’s Rowena, love.”

Dean filed that away. “Lady Rowena.”

Rowena winked at him before turning to shriek, “ _Fergus!!_ Come sign off on this package so I can keep the delivery boy!”

There was the scrape of a chair sliding back before, “I didn’t order any—” Crowley stopped as soon as the doorway came into view, looking just liked Dean remembered. Stout in and in an overpriced suit, standing like he owned the world and intended to remind everyone of that with just his presence, even the interloper standing on his doorstep like a warring prince.

Though, to his credit, Crowley looked neither surprised nor frightened. “Ah,” he sighed, eyeing Dean much more blandly than Rowena had. “ _That_ package.”

Rowena turned to look at him, but her smile went sharp. “You know him, Fergus?”

Crowley looked at her, his smile laced with thinly veiled contempt and Dean’s eyebrows raised just a fraction. “Mother, why don’t you take Gavin to his judo class early?” he said, ignoring the way Dean’s face flickered with disbelief, “Maybe his little girlfriend will beat him up again.”

Rowena glanced at Dean with understanding, though exactly what she understood from Crowley’s tone was unclear. When footsteps started down the stairs, she seemed to decide this was a detail to be abused at some other time leaving Dean to his surprise in peace.

“Oh, _fine_ , I raised a little prude,” she muttered and disappeared into a coat closet, coming out with a shawl and a pair of sunshades. “Come on, love, let’s go, let’s go!” When her grandson trotted into view, she patted his head lovingly as they walked towards the door. Dean stepped out of the way, but not far enough to keep Rowena from goosing him. “Boy loves his roughhousing,” she tossed a wink over her shoulder, “Takes after his gran.”

Dean winked back at her when Crowley’s face twisted in distaste.

As soon as the car door shut, Dean turned back to find Crowley ambling uncaringly back into the house. Reluctant as he was, Dean stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “ _Fergus_.”

“ _Squirrel,_ ” Crowley spat back, falling into a chair in a homey if annoyingly floral kitchen. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

“I need info on Hell.”

Crowley laughed. “Why would I know anything about Hell?”

Dean’s confusion quickly shifted gears into anger. “You’re the friggin’ _King_ of Hell, what do you mean why would—?”

“ _Was_ the King of Hell, past tense,” Crowley corrected, motioning around himself with a curl of his lip. “You think I’m living in plastic purgatory because I like PTA meetings and unseasoned food?”

“You…” Dean stared at him, face blank with shock. “You’re _actually_ in WITSEC?”

Crowley hitched up a shoulder. “Not officially on the books, but yes, I’m trying to be ‘incognito’,” he said with an inflection that made it sound like he was quoting someone. “Not the king of anything these days. Lucifer’s got that throne back and he can keep it.”

Dean was baffled that one of the most cutthroat demons he’d ever met was willingly in the ass crack of suburbia with his mother and child, leaving behind an entire empire. “Why?”

“Torture is meant to be a means to an end, not a game. I never did anything for no good reason. Inefficient,” he explained professionally, but then his eyes wandered to a sitting room and Dean’s shock and confusion spiked to see it full of trophies and pictures of Gavin.

“And what can I say?” Crowley sneered as though all positive emotions were grudgingly and distastefully wrenched out of him. “Having kids makes you soft.”

Dean paused only a moment to take that in, the idea of Crowley raising a well-adjusted human person seeming impossible, before mentally shaking himself. He had other fish to fry and the implications of Crowley’s words were not lost on him. “How long has Lucifer been fucking with kids?” he asked.

“Lad, I’m pretty sure he’s been ‘fucking with kids’ since he was a sprog himself,” Crowley replied, lifting his glass back to his mouth. “Long as it’s not my kid, I don’t particularly care.” He hardly reacted when Dean smacked the drink out of his hand. “That was expensive.”

“Do you really think I drove all the way out here just to catch up?” Dean snapped, suddenly angry. He hated this house and this neighborhood – _and_ _Castiel would probably love Claire to grow up somewhere like here_ – and he wanted Crowley to cough up the next lead because Crowley _had_ to have it.

For however neutrally angry Dean’s face was from the moment he stepped inside, something must’ve flashed in his eyes when he spoke that Crowley got too close of a look at. He laughed mockingly, sitting back in his chair with amused surprise all over his face. “Oh, is ‘at what this is?” he chuckled, “Devil found out you got someone knocked up and she called you for a rescue, ah?”

It was not a crazy assumption given his history and Dean was content to let Crowley think he’d struck oil. Dean stayed silent, allowing Crowley to assume he was fuming.

It was a bad call, because the next thing Crowley said was, “Ae, _Righteous_ , how do you think she’s going to react when she hears you were his toy? You’re just as twisted as he is, it’s probably why she left you in the first place, innit?”

Dean didn’t have a short fuse, he really didn’t, but Hell was a sore spot, Hell was an open fucking wound that had just been fingered back open. Dean had done a lot of bad things in his life, not just confined to Hell, but he had never enjoyed them. He wasn’t a sadist, he was good at those things because he had to be. Sam had told him and Bobby had told him and Dean was trying so fucking hard to tell himself, but sometimes it didn’t work. And to have Crowley even insinuate that Castiel could know anything about what happened in Hell, that what happed was somehow intrinsic to Dean as a person was more than his temper could take.

All to say, he didn’t remember drawing his gun, but there it was pressed against Crowley’s temple, Dean’s finger hovering over the trigger.

Crowley’s eyes flashed to their natural red at the threat, but the smug look didn’t drop off his face. “You fire that gun in here the nervy civilians are going to call the cops and blow your cover,” he said, “You wanna see your kid again you’d better unclench, lad.”

It alarmed Dean how quickly that kicked his brain back online.

This gun wouldn’t kill Crowley, these bullets would just trap him in this body, where it didn’t even appear he wanted to leave anyway. The creeping violence in Dean was receding only due to the fact that Crowley, however off base, was right. Claire was not his, in any sense, but she – the little girl who smiled at him and reached up to be held by her ‘Star Knight’ – was the daughter of his soul mate. Neither one of them would ever be in danger without Dean jumping up to put himself between them and the gun. And if he couldn’t, he knew Sam would never let anything happen to them, he wasn’t worried, but… he also just didn’t want to be separated from them.

Crowley arched an eyebrow when Dean lowered the gun away from his head. “Kids make you soft,” he repeated, satisfied.

“Not that soft,” Dean said, with a pointed look towards the sitting room and immediately crashed into the far wall so hard his teeth rattled.

“You’re not going to hurt my son,” Crowley said, hand extended almost lazily in contrast to the strength with which he’d flung Dean across the room.

“No,” Dean agreed, wheezily, because he wouldn’t. “But if I don’t, my friends are going to make sure he grows up fatherless,” he added, because they would.

Crowley’s expression didn’t actually change much, but Dean knew he accepted that information as fact. They stared each other down, an unstoppable force and an immovable object, and Dean didn’t know which one he was, he felt like both.

Eventually, Crowley caved first. He rolled his eyes and when they landed on Dean they were back to hazel. “I wasn’t lying,” he said, “I don’t know what the hell that bloody lunatic has been up to. I make clean breaks.”

Well, shit.

“Who was next in line when you left?”

That question actually seemed to make Crowley uncomfortable for the first time. He looked sidelong at Dean, his jaw kicked off to one side. “They’re all dead,” he admitted eventually.

Dean blinked at that. “Excuse me?”

“All dead, the whole lot of them,” Crowley repeated, glancing at the shattered glass on the floor before reaching directly for the bottle. “After you offed Azazel, the other Princes decided to make scarce. Lucifer tracked them down and put their heads on stakes,” he took a swig, then shook his head. “I left before he got bored and moved on to everyone else. Rumor had it he even killed Lilith.”

Lilith, the first member of Hell, Lucifer’s favorite, the only other demon maybe strong enough to take him on if it came down to an actual fight.

Dean stared at Crowley, at the feigned boredom on his face destroyed by the tense line in his jaw, and abruptly understood that Crowley wasn’t laying low to hide out from hunters, maybe not even just to protect his son from his old job. He was literally on the run from _Lucifer._

“He’s cleaning house?” Dean asked, “Why?”

 Crowley sighed at that. “My understanding is that was what he always wanted, wasn’t it?” he replied and Dean couldn’t argue there. Death and destruction pouring in from all corners and wiping out all life seemed exactly like the sort of thing Lucifer would want. Why wouldn’t he start with the things closest to him?

Looking around the room again, Dean found it vacant of any visible warding. Unless Crowley had somehow managed to make the entire neighborhood a ward or had some sort of nihilistic death wish, there had to be something here that would give Lucifer a hard time. The fact that he couldn’t figure out which it was did something odd to his stomach. He didn’t try to sort out his mixed feelings about Crowley, instead asking, “So you don’t have a bunker?”

“If you’re asking me if the house is secure—”

“Not really,” Dean interrupted.

Crowley’s gaze was lingering, as though he was trying to make the image last with the understanding that Dean was about to get splattered all over a wall somewhere. Eventually he gave a soft laugh, looking away. “I might have a relevant weapon,” he mused, “assuming you even get the chance to fight back.”

Dean scowled at him. “I’d have to have it to do that, wouldn’t it?”

“Get me a location, I’ll get you a weapon,” Crowley said and with a flick of his wrist, the front door swung open. “Be in touch, Squirrel. Kiss your brother for me.”

Knocking the rest of Crowley’s scotch off the table would’ve been a lot more satisfying if the glass had shattered on the tile, but Crowley was not fooled twice, catching it before it hit the ground and looking at Dean like he was a petulant cat. Dean gave him the finger, but took his exit with no further comment.

The door slammed shut behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

When Dean had been undercover in Hell, under the direct supervision of Prince Azazel, he’d heard a lot of things about Hell’s hierarchy, though the legitimacy of most of the claims he would never be able to verify.

Azazel was bugfuck crazy and the purest form of sadomasochist Dean had ever met; he got high on any sort of suffering, even his own. Dean regularly wished he’d killed him the night he’d been trusted enough to kneel over the demon’s arousal and carve ‘ _Lucifer rises_ ’ all over his torso, but instead he’d listened to his drunken babbling like the good double agent that he was.

There had been four princes of Hell, serving directly under Lucifer, in addition to a medley of other powerful but title-less demons in the ‘court’, Crowley included. Sometime before Dean and Sam had arrived, everyone but Crowley and Azazel had gone underground, no one ever even mentioning their names. Azazel had called them traitors to their King, even Crowley who was a little too ambitious for Azazel’s liking, but even then Dean hadn’t bought that story. Lucifer never just _let_ anyone go. When someone slighted him, there was pomp and circumstance in their punishment – heads on stakes. Where Azazel only had eyes for the approval of Lucifer and rarely put on a show for anyone, Lucifer wanted his power to make the message clear. The denizens of Hell never left in anything less than a haze of blood and suffering.

Sam was the only person they knew of to have made it out of Lucifer’s crosshairs (mostly) intact, and that was only because Dean loved his brother more than anything and would take on all of Hell and Lucifer himself before he’d ever hurt him. As a matter of fact, he’d have _loved_ the opportunity to look Lucifer in his face right that damn second.

That didn’t change the fact that nobody knew where the fuck he was, though.

Dean spent the next week flying through all his contacts, calling anyone he could think of that might’ve had contact with Lucifer after their crew fell apart. Even though Crowley had warned him, he was surprised to find so few of those numbers left alive. The few that answered had heard whispers about Lucifer’s temper resulting in a lot of dead demons all over the place, but nothing about a specific location or end game. Charlie had put everyone on high alert that the devil was on _a goddamn rampage_ , and they still couldn’t get a twenty on him. To say it was driving Dean crazy would be a bit of an understatement.

It was clear to him that Sam was struggling to have to relive all of this again, even with Dean and Benny as steady presences at his side and the protection of all the Men of Letters behind them. Benny had told Dean that the nightmares were back and Dean _hated_ this, he hated it so much. It didn’t really even occur to him that _his_ nightmares were harder to hide when he wasn’t living alone.

Almost every night he’d come home or out of his office to Castiel cooking something, with Claire marching around the kitchen and shouting or singing happily. Dean had told Castiel he didn’t have to cook for him, only to stay quiet when Castiel mentioned not having much else to do. The rooftop garden and the game room could only be so interesting after weeks, he knew, and the thought just made it all worse. This was not the way any of them wanted to live.

Nevertheless, Castiel cooked and Dean made sure that Cas knew he was grateful for it. They ate dinner together and Claire filled in most of the silence, though Castiel was still just as oddly charming as Dean remembered, even if it was clear he was doing a bit of glad handling. Dean would have said he wasn’t nearly stressed enough to need that, but he was also too tired to argue the point. He was _just_ wired enough that his exhaustion didn’t let him do anything stupid, like reach across the table and hold Castiel’s hand an let it go approximately never.

The ‘something stupid’ didn’t happen until 4am two weeks into the Great American Devil Chase.

It began the weekend prior with Castiel sitting on the couch when Dean came out of his room in the middle of the night, both of them seeming to freeze when they saw the other.

Dean, because Castiel was sleep ruffled and soft, curled up on the end of Dean’s couch, holding Dean’s favorite mug like that was exactly where he belonged _._ But also because he could tell by the concern furrowing Castiel’s brow that the shiner he’d gotten earlier this evening must be coming in pretty strong. He’d intentionally come in after dinner and gone straight to bed specifically to avoid this encounter, but his insomnia fucked him over anyway.

“ _Dean._ ” Castiel jumped to his feet, striding towards him.

“It’s nothing, Cas, I’m fine,” Dean said blithely, motioning him away. It was a mistake, though, because then Castiel caught him by the hand and Dean barely held back a hiss as his busted knuckles screamed at him. Castiel’s hand immediately loosened, apologetic.

“You’re not fine,” he replied tightly and then his grace was pressing under Dean’s skin again.

Dean had almost yanked his hand away on principle; he’d been doing this without a supernatural healer on the team for years, he didn’t need someone to nurse his wounds for him. But also Castiel, who had no concept of personal space, was standing close and holding his hand and sometimes Dean forgot that Castiel’s soul was actually made of celestial light until he felt Castiel’s will against his body.

When Castiel finished, Dean didn’t even realize he was staring until Castiel blinked at him. And even then, he couldn’t stop. He swallowed, but his voice came out low and intimate, “Go to sleep, Cas.”

“I can’t,” Castiel confessed just as lowly. He hadn’t let go of Dean’s hand. “Would you just sit with me for a minute?” he asked, though Dean had the distinct feeling it wasn’t actually a question.

With a sigh of “Just for a minute”, he sank down into the couch, propping one foot up on the coffee table. Then, with the intuition of a man who spends his whole life dodging questions, spoke up before Castiel could. “How’s Claire?”

Castiel looked like he was going to push the issue, but seemed to come to some sort of conclusion himself. “She feels like she’s in a castle, so it’s… good. This isn’t scary for her anymore,” he answered honestly, then smirked a little. “She made me tell a bedtime story about you.”

Dean chuckled, leaning his head against the back of the sofa. “Did she now?” he said, “Did you have any good ones to tell her?”

Castiel looked at him evenly for a stretch, considering. “I had trouble choosing,” he admitted and continued speaking over Dean’s rush of joy, “I told her about the night we met.”

“Oh, come _on_ , Cas,” Dean laughed embarrassedly, putting his hand over his face. “ _The barn party?_ ”

Castiel chuckled. “It wasn’t all bad,” he said. “She thought it was funny that you tried to solve a stain with a knife.”

“I was drunk,” Dean defended sulkily. At the time, it’d made sense.

“I didn’t mention that part,” Castiel said, looking amused in the face of Dean’s glare. “Do you remember trying to take me to a brothel as an apology?”

“Now, wait just a second…”

It wound up being a longer conversation than Dean had expected to have at this time of the morning. There was an easy flow of words between them that Dean had missed and couldn’t bring himself to stop. Dean had known he missed Castiel’s deadpan sense of humor, but hadn’t realized exactly how much. It wasn’t the wordless communication he and Sam shared or the easy comradery he had with Benny, but there was something about it that made Dean feel like he was slow-dancing in the soft morning lights. His head was drooped back and he was laughing and just talking, staring right at Castiel’s eyes, who looked back like maybe, just _maybe_ Dean hung the sun. He’d had good times between there and here, but he hasn’t felt _this_ sort of lightness in his chest in years. For the moment, Castiel’s presence – warm and safe beside him – made him feel like the nightmares were actually just nightmares.

Dean woke with a start to Claire ambling boldly over his lap. He blinked at her. “Uh.”

“G’mornin’, I sleepy,” she replied in one breath, before wrapping her arms around Dean’s neck, Dean returning her embrace instinctively. He looked around, confused to find himself laying on the couch under a spare blanket that he was now sharing with the sleepy toddler settled against his chest. Castiel wandered in a few minutes later, pausing for the span of a breath before the softest look Dean had ever seen crept blushingly across his face. It flashed to sheepishness seconds later.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, crossing over, “I told her to wait on the bed.”

“Uh, it’s not a big deal, Cas,” Dean shrugged, looking down at Claire, “What time is it?”

“Nine,” Castiel answered and Dean winced; he’d meant to get to headquarters by ten. But then Castiel sat down on the edge of the couch, his thigh pressed along Dean’s side. “You look like you slept well. You might as well top it off with a good breakfast?” he suggested, reading the look on Dean’s face.

Dean opened his mouth to respond but the combination of admitting he _had_ slept well clashing with the urge to say he needed to go, to get away from them right now clogged up his throat. Because this part, _this_ couldn’t happen. Castiel’s hand had rested beside Dean’s on Claire’s back where she was dozing and Dean _wanted_ this. He wanted this to be his life, to wake up in the morning to Castiel and Claire making this apartment a home, to have breakfast with them before he went off to take his lumps and make the world a little safer.

He wanted to come home and hear that Bobby had invited Castiel to The Bunker poker night again, but this time Castiel’s _impeccable_ poker face was accompanied by him actually knowing how to play. He wanted Claire to get to grow up with Ben who she gleefully bossed around and Eileen’s daughter who taught Claire ASL while they grinned at each other. He wanted Castiel to continue to meet up with Pamela, sitting in the rooftop garden while Castiel read her the newspaper and Claire told her the color of every plant she could see. He liked that Castiel rolled his eyes when Dean teased him about talking to Samandriel over ‘angel radio’. He liked that Castiel told Claire bedtime stories about him, he liked that Claire made him kiss her cheek before bed and he wanted to stop choking down the urge to do the same to Castiel. He wanted to stop choking down the urge to ask Castiel _into_ his bed, to wake up in each other’s arms. This wasn’t their home, but _for goodness sake_ , couldn’t it be? Couldn’t they all build a life here?

Dean wanted that so badly he could hardly breathe.

So of course that meant he had to fuck it up.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam had said when they were chasing down a lead the next day. Just his name, no further comment, but it was a warning. Dean had gone over the top, Dean hadn’t pulled his punches against guys that couldn’t have taken him on a good day, Dean wasn’t drenched in blood, but there was enough on his shirt to be noticeable in a flickering streetlight, and none of it was his. Sam pointing it out, with nothing more than his tone, just twisted Dean’s wires tighter. He threw the bat in the trunk and slammed it, slammed the front door, too, for good measure. Sam watched him do it with sad eyes, sighed, but didn’t speak again. Dean was pissed off that he knew exactly what Sam’s silence was accusing him of.

Dean wasn’t being self-destructive, he was being realistic.

Castiel was not his and, really? This right here, the gore on his hands, was why he couldn’t be. For however much Dean loved the soft morning light and Castiel’s smile and Claire’s laugh, they couldn’t be his anymore that he could be theirs. Dean belonged to the good fight and the carnage that it occasionally spawned; he belonged to and with the monsters he hunted more than anything else.

Castiel would figure that out the hard way, eventually. Or— _no,_ Castiel would _remember_ it, eventually. Crowley was right, this life, the kind of person Dean had become because of it was what had caused Castiel to run from him in the first place. Dean had known that all along. That’s why he hadn’t given into the selfish desire to chase him. Castiel had loved him, but had been strong enough to turn him lose. So Dean had toughened up and done the same.

Now, they just had to do this dance again.

When he got home, he could hear Castiel singing _Hey Jude_ and Dean was so angry – so touched, so hurt, so in love – he felt his throat go tight. He crept past without stopping, silently because he’s a professional, and – after ditching the bloody clothes – closed himself in his office. It was stupid to think it was that simple, though. Sam must have tipped Castiel off because no less than ten minutes later, his office door opened and the air reeked of concern.

“Ever heard of knocking?”

Dean was alternating between cleaning his guns and staring down at his case notes when Castiel walked in, this time with no joy in his face when he froze in the doorway.

“Yes,” Castiel answered worriedly, “Was there a reason I should have?”

Dean glanced up before thinking better of it before going back to aggressively brushing the barrel of his handgun. “Not exactly your house, man,” he pointed out and didn’t even have to look up to feel the tilt of Castiel’s head.

“No,” Castiel agreed, and didn’t point out that Dean had never tried to get him to knock on any door for the entirety of their friendship. If it wasn’t locked, that was permission; Dean didn’t analyze that too closely now. Castiel continued, “But we all decided that for the time being—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re here ‘til Lucifer’s back in a box with no holes.” Yeah, yeah, Dean was stupid, he didn’t need to be reminded. “We’ll have this figured out in no time and you can go back home, back to your lives.”

Castiel’s face went completely blank. “You want us to leave now,” he concluded and the carefully controlled, emotionless tone was not lost on Dean.

“ _You_ want to leave,” Dean corrected, not letting the hurt he knew Castiel was hiding touch him.

“I never said anything like that.”

“Oh, didn’t you?” Dean snapped, finally turning to see Castiel’s face twisted with confusion. “You know what this is about.”

When Castiel’s face went pale, Dean knew he understood. “Dean, that was years ago.”

“Don’t I know it,” Dean replied sharply, shaking his head, “and nothing has changed.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dean sat back in his chair, putting his gun down on his desk and folding his arms. “You’re still scared of me.”

Castiel looked flabbergasted. “ _What?_ ”

“We had something, man, we really did. But this?” He motioned at the casefiles scattered across his desk, at the guns, at the bruises and torn calluses on his own hands, “You called me because I’m good at _this_. I’m good at the blood and guts and horror, I’m a _hunter_. You called me because you needed someone bigger and scarier than the bad guys,” he jabbed an accusing finger at Castiel, “and I scare the _shit_ out of you.”

Instead of the look of shocked guilt he expected, Castiel’s gaze was dancing somewhere between uncomprehending and furious. “I called you because you were my _hero!_ Dean, are you serious?” he stepped forward, no longer nervous. “All this time, you thought I was _afraid_ of you?”

That made Dean mad, as if Castiel was trying to imply that one of the most hurtful realizations of Dean’s life had never happened. “You left me!”

“Because I was no _good_ for you!” Castiel shot back. “You were going to be so successful, one of the greatest hunters who ever lived. You were going to have it all and _you should._ ” He lowered his voice to a hiss, “But you didn’t want a family, the idea of a house full of kids in the suburbs made you _sick_ , my _dream_ made you sick!”

Dean stood abruptly, but wasn’t given the satisfaction of Castiel stepping back, standing his ground even when Dean glared down at him.

“It didn’t make me sick, Cas, I was _twenty-freaking-five!!_ I didn’t even think I could keep a _dog_ alive yet, let alone a kid!” He shook his head in angry confusion, “You didn’t even give us the chance to work it out, I would’ve done _anything_ for you!”

“I know!” Castiel replied, eyes welling, “You and your damn _martyr_ complex would’ve sacrificed anything to be with me, even your own happiness, I know that. I _know_ how much you loved me!”

“I never _stopped_ loving you!” Dean shouted, the words twisting out of his mouth and unraveling the knot in his chest before he could cram it back down. “I never for a moment of the past _nine goddamn years_ stopped loving you. You know how awful that was? Even when I finally got to a good place, when I _finally_ felt like I could freaking breathe around the fact you couldn’t even _look at me_ , I couldn’t let go. Every time I even tried to look at someone else, I felt like a _cheating prick_ because I knew I would never love them the way I loved you, I couldn’t! I…” He felt his face crumble, “I wanted to spend my whole life with you, Cas.”

Castiel looked blown open at the admission, dismay plain all over his face. “Dean, I…”

Dean’s phone rang and he immediately turned away. Whatever was on the end of the line would be easier than the broken look on Castiel’s face.

Even when it turned out to be Charlie saying, without preamble, “ _Kevin might have a location on Lucifer._ ”

“Call Sam, I’m on my way,” Dean answered, wiping a hand down his face and slamming his gun back together and shoving it in his waistband. He could barely glance at Castiel as he used his presence to back him out of the office. “Stay here.”

“Dean, wait…” Castiel made to grab for Dean when he tried to walk past him, but Dean caught him by a hand in the middle of his chest.

“ _Stay_ here,” he repeated, “It’s almost over.”

“ _Daddy?_ ”

Claire’s voice drifted to them before Castiel could reply. She was leaning out of the doorway, wide eyed and nervous, and Dean didn’t know what to do with that.

“I’m sorry, Claire,” Castiel said moving towards her, “Did we wake you up?”

Claire nodded, rubbing her eye and stepped into the hallway clutching Wiggy. Her eyes caught on Dean around Castiel’s legs, “Where’s your jammies?”

Dean tensed. “Uh. I’ll put them on in a bit, C,” he offered with a thin smile, tugging the door to his office shut behind him, locking it. “I gotta do something first.”

“Outside?” Claire asked, clearly disturbed, “It’s dark.”

“Ah, I’ll be ok. I’m a knight, remember?” Dean joked, but Claire shook her head, coming forward with her arms up. Dean stifled a wince as he picked her up, noticing the tight look on Castiel’s face, the unspoken words in his eyes.

“You aren’t a scared of the dark?” Claire asked.

Dean shook his head and tweaked her cheek. “Nah, nothing out there really scares me.” It was true in a lot of ways; the things Dean was most afraid of were already inside.

“Then I wanna go, too,” Claire declared, the trepidation completely gone from her face. “Don’t go by yourself. We’ll be line buddies so you won’t get lost.”

“Claire…” Castiel began, but Dean laughed.

“I won’t get lost, princess,” Dean said and thought it may have been the first time he used the word with no sarcasm or malice. “You stay here with Space Man and look after the castle.” When she didn’t look convinced, he added, “If I get in trouble, I’ll pray to you, ok?”

Claire seemed just sleepy enough for that statement to sooth her nerves. She nodded, kissing Dean’s cheek before she went easily into her father’s arms and Dean tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Dean promised, thinking about how it wasn’t going to be her home for much longer. He only glanced at Castiel, but couldn’t take the intensity in his face. He marched out the door without looking back.

If he paused to text Rufus – the night watch – to keep an eye on the cameras around his entrances and exits, that was just well-taught precaution.


	8. Chapter 8

Charlie and Kevin were three energy drinks into their night when Dean got to her apartment and buzzing with anxious energy on whatever answer they thought they’d found.

On a good night, they’d be in their nerdy pajamas finishing up a WOW campaign before forcing Dean to watch yet another movie he would never admit to liking. The nerdy pajamas were still there, but their familiarity did nothing to sooth Dean with the flighty looks on his friend’s faces. When he crossed over to the kitchen table to see Jody, Sam, and Benny’s alarmed faces via Skype, it just solidified the knowledge that they finally had a lead.

“What are you doing there?” Sam asked from beside Benny.

“What are we looking at?” Dean asked, ignoring him.

Kevin glanced between them before visibly deciding Dean’s face was enough warning not to press the issue. “So we kept getting reports from other hunters that the usual demonic activity had actually gone quieter than usual, right?”

“Yeah, a pile of dead demons will do that.”

“Yeah, but it was driving everyone up the walls, me included. So I decided to do some poking around online which…” Kevin gave off the sigh of someone who’s seen entirely too many things in the span of one website, “there was a lot.”

“What do you mean?” Jody asked, voice tinny through the speakers. “Are you saying Lucifer was keeping a _blog_ this whole time?”

“He means that there’s a lot of weirdos on the internet claiming to be Lucifer,” Charlie answered, “And while most of them are just weirdos…”

Dean perked up. “One wasn’t?”

“Not exactly,” Kevin said, “but there were _several_ that gave weirdly specific descriptions of nightmares they’d had. Every single one of their stories ended with,” he then spoke as though he were reading aloud, “ _And a Light burst forth, bright enough to Scald the Light Bringer Himself._ ”

The photo of Lucifer, the welts all over his face, came to Dean’s mind. “They’re having nightmares about Lucifer’s injuries?”

“Assuming those aren’t song lyrics, yeah,” Charlie said, “but that’s where the problem comes in. None of the Men of Letters, here or abroad, have record of _any_ weapon that would do that sort of damage.” She tipped her head, “Whatever it is, it’s more likely that Lucifer tried to use it himself and it blew up in his face.”

“Well.” Sam began, and it was the way he said it that implied he’d jumped seven moves ahead of everyone else on this chessboard and didn’t like what he’d found. “The last time we saw Luc” – he tripped over the name and none of them mentioned it, though he shifted like Benny’s hand had found his knee – “ _Lucifer_ he was scarred to shit. Even holy water wouldn’t have left a burn that bad, it’d have to have been something more powerful, like… like _wrath of heaven_ powerful.”

“Wrath of heaven, huh?” Dean said skeptically, “And where do you propose the _Devil_ got his hands on that?”

In the pause that followed, a look flickered across Sam’s face that Dean felt like a kick in the chest even before his brother said, “By birthing a World Destroyer.”

_My daughter is not an abomination._

“ _No_ ,” Dean hissed.

He couldn’t helped the shocked anger on his face at even the insinuation that Claire was Lucifer’s kid. He knew what Nephilim were supposedly capable of, let alone the child of an evil son of a bitch like Lucifer, but that. _wasn’t. her._ Claire was a toddler already, growing up peacefully until this shit fell into her life. She wasn’t setting bibles on fire or making the walls bleed; Dean Winchester, paranoid bastard, had actual, honest to goodness, _silver_ silverware and it hadn’t hurt her. She wasn’t evil and certainly wasn’t the fucking _World Destroyer_ of legend, she was just a kid. She was just a little angel with curly hair and clear eyes and a sweet laugh and she wasn’t Lucifer’s, _he wouldn’t accept that_.

“Dean, I know—” Sam began, but Dean wasn’t having it.

“No!” Dean barked again, “Whatever it is Lucifer wants with her it has nothing to do with her being _his kid._ ”

“Just because you want her to be _yours_?” Sam snapped indignantly and Dean’s mind flashed red.

“ _If that were the case!_ ” Kevin interjected quickly before they could get to the point of yelling. “If that were the case, Castiel would’ve felt her conception. _All_ angels would’ve felt her conception. Birthing a Nephilim _might_ be possible for the partners of normal angels, but an archangel? She would’ve blown up,” his face twisted uncomfortably, “The whole hospital, probably. We’d have heard about that.”

It occurred to Dean, then, that Kevin hadn’t said any of that like it was new information.

“You thought of this already,” Dean said and Kevin looked like he was putting in a good effort to not shrink under Dean’s gaze.

“He wants her for a reason, but I don’t think it’s that one.”

“The bright light,” Charlie added softly, gently and Dean _hated_ being gentled. “The light that burned Lucifer in the first place was… probably his first attempt.”

“First attempt at what?” Jody asked.

Kevin’s lips were pressed into a grim line, Charlie speaking up just before Dean repeated the question. “Breeding a sword,” she answered, “In the Great Big Final Showdown between Heaven and Hell, Michael was supposed to possess someone to use as a ‘sword’ against Lucifer.”

Kevin jumped in, “We think Lucifer is trying to make a vessel strong enough not only to hold the power of an archangel, but actually _compound_ it.”

It seemed like nobody really knew how to respond to that, but Benny spoke up first. “You saying Lucifer could use Claire as a bomb?”

“We’re stopping it before it becomes an issue!” Dean said harshly.

“We know that, brother,” Benny said easily, “we still gotta know what we’re trying to stop.”

“Yes. He could,” Kevin agreed haltingly, as though it pained him, “She’s half human, so she can be possessed…”

“But?” Charlie prompted and Kevin stood up, pacing and rubbing his eyes.

 “My Enochian isn’t the best,” he mumbled, “but from what I read, the last time Nephilim got violent on earth, God Himself had to personally intervene.” He looked up, eyes crinkled like he was getting a headache, “If you were to combine the raw power of a Nephilim with the power and skill of an archangel, one as twisted as _Lucifer_ no less, then…”

Then nothing short of nuclear winter would happen, yeah, Dean got the picture. “So fine,” he said, clapping his hands together like it was settled, “We kill him before he gets the shot to get near Claire again.”

“That sounds a little simplistic, Dean,” Sam said.

“Best plans are, brother” Benny said and Dean didn’t want to know how many hours of the cold shoulder that cost him. “Said you had a location, Charlie.”

“Yeah, everyone who was picking up Lucifer’s dream signal pinged around Crest Hill Cemetery. Owner has a shack on the property, but hasn’t been heard from in months,” Charlie held out her hand and Dean, on impulse, handed his phone over expecting coordinates. He was confused when she just slid it into her pocket. “I’ll give you the address tomorrow at 10am sharp.”

“What?” Dean said.

Charlie looked at him challengingly. “You’ll kill the Devil on no less than a full night’s sleep and an Egg McMuffin.”

“Good plan,” Sam sighed, rubbing his temple when Benny’s face quirked towards amusement. Dean didn’t like being handled, and that’s what this was, but everyone’s anticipation was contagious. There was no hope that they wouldn’t suffer for this or that this would be a clean fight, but the fact that it just might be a fight _at all_ gave them a few shreds of cautious confidence. They had a chance to stop the world from blowing up and they might just be able to pull it off. With that in mind, he at least made an attempt swallow his grumbling.

Charlie kept talking like she couldn’t feel Dean’s scowl beside her. “We briefed everyone in the county that they’ll need to be on guard in the surrounding area just in case…” she paused, “Or, well, no, for _when_ hell breaks loose.”

Benny nodded. “Sheriff?”

“I’m keeping all cops without supernatural field certification out of the area,” Jody answered, “I’ll run point for the rest. They’ll be loaded up with everything we got.”

“We’ll do the same,” Sam said and Benny gave a lazy wave.

“Rest easy ‘til then, brothers.”

Jody nodded and Dean waved back, “Y’all, too.”

“Over and out,” Charlie saluted before Kevin terminated the call.

They didn’t all sag at once, but the feeling of a half stifled sigh definitely passed through the room. Charlie leaned over the back of her chair and Kevin laid his head on his arms.

Dean looked them over, “When was the last time you slept?”

“No,” Charlie said at the same time Kevin said, “Slept?”

A tickling of gratitude worked itself over Dean’s bad mood and he sighed, looking away. He knew Garth wasn’t exactly prepping Charlie or Kevin to take over the Men of Letters just yet, but with the amount of managing they wound up doing, it wouldn’t be a leap to imagine it happening. He normally relied on them pretty heavily to manage the nationwide chapter, but now they were both here handling what was basically a DEFCON-1 level supernatural event all on their own.

“Where’s Garth?”

Kevin shook his head. “There’s a different apocalypse brewing in D.C. right now.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Don’t ask. He’s handling it, he wants us here,” Charlie said. “Are you staying the night?”

Dean hadn’t realized the answer was yes until she’d asked him, but of course it was. He’d tipped Rufus off to keep an eye on Castiel, nothing short of a nuke would be able to get into the Bunker while he was gone. Not to mention, going home would mean having to avoid Castiel’s eyes, the emotion in them at the fact that Dean was a _blathering sap_ who talked too much. He couldn’t have that, he needed his head in the game tomorrow, and stewing over this thing with Castiel would not get him there. So he shoved all thoughts of it away – _like he always did_ – to focus on the practical. Charlie and Kev would make better company to prep him for a fight and his go-bag in the trunk had a sufficiently clean pair of boxers.

Later, when Dean came out of the shower, Kevin startled up off the futon like he’d been half-asleep sitting there. “Dean,” he said like there were about to be a lot of words to follow.

“Go to sleep, Kev,” Dean tried not to snap and was mostly successful. He raised his eyebrows when Kevin waved a piece of paper at him.

“Believe me, I will,” Kevin answered. “I need to give this to you, though. After we… handle Lucifer, this is for Claire.”

Dean’s brow scrunched at that. “What is it?” He asked, then blinked in confusion at the complex string of Enochian and Latin sigils. He recognized some of them, but a lot of the others made him a little dizzy to try to parse.

“Protective rune work,” Kevin explained, “I knew her being a Nephilim could be an issue _for her safety_ ,” he rushed on at the sour look Dean gave him. “If not Lucifer, then some other angel or _demon_ might try to use her if they found out about her powers. These are designed to keep out everything, even if she were to say yes.”

Dean’s eyes went wide at the length and complexity of this mark, at the obvious attention to detail that Kevin had put into this and was extraordinarily comforted by it. If this worked – and he did not doubt Kevin’s skill in the slightest – Claire would be just that much safer for the rest of her life. But he still couldn’t keep the wince off his face. “You want to _brand_ her with this?”

“No!” Kevin’s face scrunched, then went considering. “Well, I mean, her dad—Cas _is_ an angel, so he could put it on her ribs permanently, but I meant…” he motions at Dean, “I meant for you to buy her an engraved locket or something, Jesus, dude…”

Oh. Dean shifted, mumbling defensively, “That’s a lot of writing for one locket…”

“You can put it on the chain with micro-etching,” Kevin explained. “It’d cost a lot, but you have a lot. Also it’s late and you’re sleeping with Charlie,” He added quickly, pointing to the door to Charlie’s room before sprawling over the sofa bed.

“What?” It wouldn’t be the first time, but that wasn’t how this normally went. Dean always got the sofa to himself, even when they went to Kevin’s place and it was _just_ a sofa. “Why?”

Kevin shrugged, but didn’t even lift his head. “Beats me. G’night.”

“…Night.” Dean decided it wasn’t exactly worth the argument, what, with Charlie’s actual queen sized bed and all. Stepping into her room was always a bit of surreal experience, with the combination of weaponry, wards, and _obsessive levels_ of nerd shit covering every available surface. Compared to Dean’s grand total of four photographs and a radio visible in his bedroom, he always felt like it was the Museum d’Charlie. He chuckled at the new picture of her and her girlfriend reigning as queens of the renaissance faire. She smiled lovingly at the picture, before shrugging at him and tossing back her Gryffindor bedspread.

After they bid each other good night, Dean got to count the glow stars on Charlie’s ceiling for about five minutes before she spoke up again.

“Can I just say something, though?” she said and he could tell by the way her voice had pitched higher what she was about to bring up.

“We’re not talking about it, Charlie.”

“I didn’t say ‘can we talk about something’,” Charlie said in a mocking tone. “I asked if I could say something.”

Dean didn’t reply and she blew a raspberry in the silence. “Fine, be that way.” Dean saw her outline sit up in the light still leaking from her desktop set up, sitting her hands on her knees and looking straight ahead at a poster of Hermione Granger. “Herms, I think Dean Winchester is being a big dummy.”

“Nice,” Dean sneered.

“I think he’s got like… a heart concussion.”

Dean squinted at her. “ _Contusion?_ ”

“ _No,_ Ninth Doctor,” Charlie said, turning and grabbing the figurine off her nightstand. “You know that ringing sound you get when you have a concussion? The way you forget things and it’s just that ringing? Like that, except in his heart,” she explained, “It’s like he’s gotten hurt so bad that he doesn’t remember what it’s like to not have that ringing sound, that suffering all the time. Like he thinks that’s just how his life should be.”

Dean felt those words like a screw in his stomach and sat up, fully prepared to leave the room, already blocking them out. He didn’t want to have this discussion at all, let alone when they were storming the gates tomorrow. Charlie’s hand latched onto his shirt before he could even get his legs out from under the sheets.

“I want him, _just once_ , to realize he’s gotten a metric shit ton more awful than most people, which is a metric _fuck ton_ more than he deserves,” she continued, “And maybe – _just maybe!_ – the Universe is balancing it out by finally putting something good, putting _love_ in front of him and, yes, Pepper Potts!!” She exclaimed pointing across the room to a magazine cutout, “The Universe _knows_ he doesn’t like being handed things, so it’s all wrapped up in the middle of the hardest case he’s ever had to handle.” She finished softly, “He’s going to have to do something even _scarier_ than fighting the Devil to get what he wants. He’s gonna have to _ask_ for it _._ ”

“Ok, Charlie, I get it,” Dean said tetchily, chest swimming. It wasn’t so much that he believed her as that he believed she wasn’t _lying._ Whether or not it was objectively true or not – and Dean couldn’t make himself look at that right now – he believed without a shadow of a doubt that Charlie wanted that, wanted Cas for him. More than that, she believed he deserved him. That meant something. “Are you done?”

She laid back down. “Yes.”

“Then _goodnight, Charlie._ ” Dean said, turning face down into the pillow.

“Wait, no,” she turned to him when he groaned, “Castiel may not be a damsel, but he is pretty dreamy, so _please_ be a hero and kiss the prince.”

Dean smacked her in the face with his pillow and laid his head down on the mattress.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean woke up in a nightmare, the imperative word being ‘ _in’_ not ‘from’ _._

There have been enough times that Dean had gone through the wringer only to wake up and not quite remember who put him there that true alarm was slow to set in. Hexes would do that; so would concussions. Even with the throbbing in his skull, Dean was seasoned enough to feel the prickle of power in the air that told him it was probably some combination of the two. If he focused hard enough he thought he could remember feeling that exact tickle of magic filling the graveyard as they approached the undertaker’s shack, in fact he was certain of it. Memories were only coming to him like spaces of lamplight on an otherwise pitch-black street, but he could still conclude that something had gone very wrong.

The image of Sam shouting something at him just before a mausoleum exploded open behind them, the shock wave sending everything in the graveyard flying, stuck to the forefront of his mind. Even though he had blood gumming up one eye and was dizzy with pain radiating from everywhere, Dean forced himself to look around for his friends.

He was unsurprised to find he wasn’t even in the graveyard anymore.

In fact, in spite of just waking up, he was still on his feet. The sour taste in his mouth was one of familiarity as he realized his hands were bound over his head; Azazel had made him use a rack many times before and it never led anywhere good. That, and the fact that the power in the room gave him flashbulb memories of Sam laying, bloody and delirious in the hospital, had a sneer creeping over his face before his eyes could even really focus enough to take in more than the empty room.

“ _Nicky_ ,” he growled tauntingly, spitting when he realized his mouth was bloody. The power in the room spiked, but Dean kept his face neutrally contemptuous even as Lucifer stepped into view, still scalded and just as unpleasant as always.

“ _Ooh,_ somebody leaked a secret, huh?” Lucifer said, stepping up to grin in his face.  “Good thing I tied up all those lose ends before anything important got out.”

The threat twisted in Dean’s chest, but that was just impulse, a gut reaction to the idea of a life without any of them, the idea that he’d let Lucifer get near Sam again. He pushed that fear aside, didn’t let it show on his face; it wasn’t based on real life, because—

“They aren’t dead,” Dean said simply, a grim statement of fact.

“Oh?” Lucifer sang.

“No,” Dean confirmed, “You would’ve made me watch.”

Lucifer didn’t seem surprised by that observation at all, face crinkling with laughter as he clapped his hands gleefully. “Ooh, you know me so well!” he leaned on his elbow against Dean’s chest. “Almost like we’re kindred spirits, huh, Righteous?”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Dean spat before he could get ahold of himself. He bared his teeth when Lucifer’s powers clenched around his jaw, keeping him from giving into the urge to bite out at Lucifer’s face.

“I could make you just like me,” Lucifer said quietly and Dean felt himself go cold when Lucifer pulled Dean’s old blade out of his pocket. “How long did it take before Azazel got you to string someone up on the rack?”

The number popped into Dean’s mind instantly, always too short for his conscience to feel clean about it. He could try to justify it – they had been demons, they had been willing members of hell, _he and Sam would have been killed otherwise_ – but that didn’t change the fact that when he’d tortured them, he’d gotten good at it. Azazel’s praise made him want to be sick, but that didn’t mean he didn’t listen to it, didn’t do as he was told. He had no excuses to make.

Lucifer would know that already, but he still patted his cheek as if waiting for an answer.

“Hm? How long before you gutted someone for him?” he whispered, “You know it wouldn’t even be a real fight if _I_ asked you, right? I could reach past that little mind,” he flicked Dean’s forehead right before pressing a finger to his stomach, _through_ his stomach as Dean fought back a scream, “right to your soul. Make a few hours feel like _decades._ You’d come out the other side never even remembering your own name, only how to say ‘ _yes, master’_.”

“ _Not on my life!!_ ” The words came out in the middle of a nearly unintelligible howl, but Dean forced them out anyway, knew Lucifer understood them.

“You’re already gonna die, Righteous, it’s not your life at stake. You think Sammy would survive this a second time around? I heard him crying for me for months, I _felt_ him dying inside,” Lucifer reminded him, then oohed at the savage rage that twisted over Dean’s face. “You’d love to get your claws in me, wouldn’t you, boy? You think you’re a human.”

Dean meant to shout that he was a human, but he was losing focus over the pain wrenching itself out of his very soul. Every instance of fear and pain he’d ever experienced stacked on top of itself, pressing on his lungs, _multiplied_ by Lucifer’s maliciousness. Dean’s mom was dying, his dad was beating him then drinking himself to death, Sam was half a country away then he was bleeding out, and Castiel was walking out the door. Those were human pains. The crushing guilt he felt over the inhumane things he did in hell, though…

“Are you?” Lucifer teased, feeling the brief flicker of agony-induced doubt. “We both know there’s darkness in you,” when the pain eased and Dean gasped, Lucifer leaned in to inhale that breath. “You’re more like my kids than anything else.”

Dean couldn’t quite help but gasping for breath, little tremors of panic sparking through him the whole time, but he tried to keep his voice even when he spoke. “If I had to pick a side, I’d sure as shit go with the top dogs,” he hissed, “not the fucking _cur_ they kicked out.” He was braced for it when his airway squeezed.

“You think angels are on _top?_ ” Lucifer barked out a laugh, but Dean’s words had the intended effect of getting Lucifer away from him, pacing theatrically as he spoke. “They haven’t even been _players_ for centuries.”

Dean was stalling. He didn’t know what for, but he had to hold off, just a little while longer, always just a little while longer – one step at a time. “Is that why you’re scared to—?” The pressure on his throat got too intense to speak.

“What have I got to be afraid of in _this_ millennia?” Lucifer replied incredulously. “Angels _used to be_ warriors of God’s Army. We were fierce beings of light and celestial intent, our _ancestors_ lived for centuries and saw the rise of creation itself. But oh,” he laughed disgustedly, “then _all God’s little ass-lickers_ loved creation more!” And with his mounting rage, the power in the room got so oppressive, Dean’s hindbrain was running through cycles of ‘ _get out, get away, get out, get OUT’_ so quickly Dean could hardly think past it.

But Lucifer was on a roll now. “Why should I be afraid of them now? They’re all glorified nurses, healing humanities _ouchies_ , blessing their brats, and bending the fuck _over for a trap,_ ” his attention snapped back to Dean viciously, “Humans trapped us in their bodies, on their planet, gave us temptations that shredded our grace. And those weak-hearted _do-gooders still_ loved humanity!”

The words cut through the haze of panic threatening to take over Dean’s mind. The image of Castiel, shaken and demure in his apartment, the feeling of warmth that had crept through him at the sight. “ _He hated me,_ ” Castiel had said, “ _for still loving humanity._ ” And it had been unrelated to Dean when Castiel had faced Lucifer, but when his eyes met Dean’s in the office, there was an implication there. Dean had known Castiel had loved him, but hadn’t let himself think about the challenge in his eyes when he’d spoken that night. Humanity was bigger than Dean and Castiel loved all of it, but Dean had been and was part of the reason Castiel had loved it. “ _I called you because you were my hero!_ ” Castiel had said and Dean made himself focus on that. Heroes were always afraid, but somethings were more important that fear.

“Well,” Dean said with a smirk, “maybe if you weren’t a douche, humanity would love you back.”

Lucifer’s face abruptly lost all aghast humor and veered towards overt disgust. “Is that what this is?” he asked lowly, “You think loving Castiel is somehow going to save you?” And when Dean didn’t grace him with a response, his eyes went bright. “I ought to pray to him right now. You really think he’d come for you?”

“He isn’t _stupid,_ ” Dean laughed. It would break Castiel’s heart, but he would never leave Claire alone. Dean trusted in that.

“Isn’t he? Castiel was always one of the weaker ones. I thought after he left the God Squad he’d get a clue what humanity was _really_ like, but instead he went and slept with the enemy,” Dean howled when Lucifer popped his knee out of place, “And _even after you broke him_ , he went and picked up a _halfling_ and started playing house with her, started playing _human_ with her.” Lucifer put a hand to his chin in mock thought, eyeing Dean up consideringly. “But pain is really the best teacher, the hard headed ones just need more of it. Castiel shouldn’t die until he knows you let that happen.”

“I’ll kill you,” Dean promised.

Lucifer ignored him, stepping forward and almost absently forcing the scalpel into Dean’s shoulder, dragging it through the muscle in his arm. He spoke over Dean’s shouting, “I feel like I should send you back to him in pieces, right before I make his little abomination into history’s biggest bomb and use her to blow all of creation to hell.”

“ _I’ll kill you if you touch her,_ ” Dean screamed through gritted teeth.

“I’m going to wring your soul until even seeing their faces—” his voice changed to Castiel’s and Dean ignored the spark of fury in his stomach “—or hearing their voices makes you see red. If you don’t let me out of here, I’ll twist you enough to kill everyone you love, Dean, I’ll make you wipe their blood on Claire’s face.”

Even as Lucifer spoke, Dean’s mind was spinning out, confusion and pain making realization slow to kick in. He blinked at Lucifer, plain in his confusion, “…Let you out?”

Lucifer’s face didn’t change, but something akin to recognition flickered in his eyes just before he rolled them. He slapped Dean in the face hard enough that his ears rang and he could feel his skin sizzling, “Wakie, wakie, Winchester, look around you!”

Dean _had_ looked around this room, but had been a little distracted by the oppressive dread that followed Lucifer like a cloud. He looked around again, taking in the generic grey of the storage room without comprehension before Lucifer grabbed him by the head, craning his neck back to see the ceiling and his stomach dropped through the floor.

There had to be hundreds of storage rooms around the country that doubled as demon jail cells; hunters had to make do with the spaces they had to keep civilians safe. But the average hunter wasn’t attempting to catch an archangel gone dark-side. It had been years since Dean had been in this room, but this specific combination of sigils, of strong, _old_ magic on the ceiling – the dozens more that were probably hidden in the walls and foundation – had been a design that Dean had seen dozens of versions of over the years. All in the late John Winchester’s hunting journal. There was only one place an actual, working installation could be, because there was only one person Dean would’ve let keep that journal.

They were in Bobby’s workshop in the basement of The Bunker.

Lucifer was in the same building as Castiel and Claire and _a hundred other residents_ – the only thing between them being Bobby’s panic room and Dean Winchester.

The fear must’ve shown in his eyes, because Lucifer was smiling again. “There we are,” he sang, looking wonderingly up at the ceiling. “How many of those people would really even stand a chance against something like you?” He shuddered with anticipation, rubbing his hands together, “You’re going to tell me how to get out _now_ , or I’m going to shred your soul and send you rampaging through your flock.”

Dean was going to die before that happened. Ok. He shut his eyes. Ok…

So, Dean was going to die.

There was part of him that did want to pray to Castiel. Not for help, he wouldn’t ask for Castiel to risk coming here, but just… just to say sorry. To make sure Castiel knew he really was the best part of Dean’s life and the only thing Dean regretted between them was ever letting Castiel leave. Even now, standing before the devil and about to bite the bullet, he was glad he got to see him again. He was glad he got to meet Claire and hoped she had a wonderful, perfect, safe life with her daddy. Not just for the sake of the world, but for the sake of the little girl with the bright smile who didn’t ask to be born this way. Dean would die to keep her from becoming the Devil’s play thing. That was ok with him.

When he opened his eyes again, Lucifer’s grin had gone manic. “Always were a fighter, Righteous.”

Dean smiled back at him. “Bite me, Nick.”

And then Lucifer’s hand was inside him, the feeling of his grace, his will under Dean’s skin burning and _disgusting_ where Castiel’s had been soothing. It was foreign and Dean felt himself coming apart, but refused to do more than scream. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be remade, not when he finally wanted to be who he was.

Just before Dean started to feel his reality begin to peel away, before Lucifer could drag him into a hallucination Dean could _smell_ was thick with blood and bile, the room seemed to shudder, Lucifer’s attention flickering with it. Dean gasped out when the grips of hell pulled back from his mind, vision grey around the edges. The door to the room had opened and had Lucifer not seemed genuinely interested in that fact, Dean would’ve thought he was already hallucinating. But instead, he was left reeling and had to clench his teeth to keep from shouting with the aftershocks of horror, staring into a familiar cheeky grin.

“Well, look at you, Red,” Lucifer exclaimed happily.

“Milord,” Rowena drawled adoringly, giving a dramatic bow.

“ _Rowena?_ ” Dean croaked.

Rowena gave a little shimmy, smiling at him over Lucifer’s shoulder. “I had a feelin’ you’d be of some use to me other than that pretty face,” she cooed, lifting her hand to reveal a series of scabs on her palm. “I tagged you before you left the house, boy.”

Dean was struck suddenly by the memory of her goosing him on her way out the door the last time she’d seen him. He was also suddenly struck by his own foolishness – why would the mother of a demon ever be anything ordinary? His stomach was sinking, “ _No…_ ”

“Yes!” Lucifer chirped, clapping his hands, “Oh, my betrothed queen, I could not have chosen better.”

Dean didn’t have any bargaining chips, not against Lucifer and not against this witch he’d met only once before threatening her family. He was trying to figure out where to even _begin_ trying to talk his way out of this when the scowl on Rowena’s face caught his attention. In the blink of an eye, she’d gone from an adoring follower wanting to kiss Lucifer’s feet, to someone fully prepared to spit in his face.

Rowena shook her head, sighing. “Ah, Lucifer, what could’ve been, ae?” she rifled through her bag, pulling out a large metal bowl and several vials. She knelt on the ground with them. “All that talk of marriage! Ruling a kingdom together and making me rich and powerful as your queen, oh, I was so head over hell for you,” she laughed scornfully, crumbling a handful of bones and dropping them into the bowl. “Or, least I was until you nearly broke my _neck_ and left me to rot.”

Lucifer shrugged bashfully, but the smile on his face was completely unapologetic. “Well, to be fair I didn’t mean to leave you to _rot_ ,” he defended, “I thought you would just die. I should’ve known better though,” he muttered intimately, “You always liked it rough. You were tough, toughest bitch I ever met.” He inched towards the edge of the room, but seemed to have to struggle to even get close. “You surviving just proves I should never let you go again. I _need_ you, Red.”

Dean’s heart froze when Rowena’s hands paused their mixing, her face going drawn. He abruptly understood the only thing standing between the end of the world and Lucifer’s death was Rowena’s desire for him to love her. He tugged uselessly, weakly at his bonds. “Rowena, pl—” Lucifer through a hand back towards him and the air was forced out of Dean’s lungs. His eyes watered as he struggled to breathe, hardly able to see when Rowena’s eyes lifted towards him.

“You’re not like him,” Lucifer said, “You don’t get _weak_ on love, Rowena, you get stronger. You’re one of the most powerful witches in the world, all because you wanted to impress me. I saw you, I heard you.” He crouched down so he was eyelevel with her where she was kneeling across the threshold. “I hear you, now. You can ask anything you want of me and I’ll do it,” he said. “You hold the power now” – _for_ now – “you get to call all the shots.”

“ _All_ the shots?” Rowena said and Dean wanted to tell her she was playing with a fire that would end the world. He wondered if that’s what she wanted.

“Of course,” Lucifer agreed, then tagged on, “My queen.”

Dean was starting to black out, but when Rowena motioned at him, Lucifer turned him lose. He sagged against his chains, the pressure of his own weight nearly cutting off his air again.

“Anything,” Lucifer reiterated, glancing back at Dean, “Even a pet.” He smiled back towards her, “What do I have to do? You are the key to this cage, Rowena. You get what you want.”

Rowena seemed to consider that for a moment, drawing her hand absently around the edge of her bowl. Eventually, her lips quirked towards a smile, “It’s not a cage Lucifer.”

Lucifer’s smile went hard. “What do you mean?” he watched Rowena stand, tugging out a match box. She bit her hand and spat her blood into the bowl. “What are you doing?”

“My son helped Dean’s old man build ‘the cage’, sure,” Rowena acknowledged, to Dean’s shock, but then her lips pulled back into a blood-and-lipstick red smile, “but I’m the one making it into a _blender_.”

The smile dropped off Lucifer’s face and Dean swallowed, closing his eyes in simultaneous relief and terror. Dying like a frog in a blender sounded like a terrible way to go, but he’d made his peace with death and was no stranger to pain. He’d do it; wasn’t like he had much of a choice, anyway. Thank heaven for bitter witches, he guessed.

“Now, Dean, evil old skank though I am, we’re both humans…” Rowena said.

“Red...” Lucifer warned.

Rowena ignored him.  “So this _probably_ won’t kill us…” she stared down Lucifer, her head tipped back haughtily, “but it’s going to hurt like a bitch and a half.”

“Don’t you dare, _I am your master!_ ” Lucifer screamed.

Dean ignored him as well, even as he had to squint against the glowing fury pouring off Lucifer. He gripped the chains in his hands, bracing for it. “Willing to take that risk,” he hissed.

“Good lad!” she exclaimed and raised her hands, sneering, bloody, and eyes full of fire. “Hell hath no bloody fury,” she spat. Whatever she followed that with was in a language Dean had never heard before. It didn’t matter anyway, though.

In the next moment, the space was filled with a light so bright Dean swore he could feel it inside himself, burning off Lucifer’s touch, and maybe burning off a bit of himself as well. Lucifer was howling so loudly – a wordless, horrendous sound of rage and pain – that it felt like a physical thing threating to rip Dean’s soul from his body. He couldn’t have heard Rowena if he even particularly wanted to. There was only one person he really wanted to hear from right now.

“ _Cas, brace for it. It’s gonna be ok,_ ” he prayed silently. “ _You’re safe now._ ” He was hit with the memory of the first night he ever realized he was in love with Castiel and he smiled even as the world around him trembled. He said those words again, “ _Don’t ever change, ok?_ ”

He felt Castiel’s alarm flash back to him, felt him attempt to respond, but whatever he was going to say was lost in the chaos. Rowena screamed the end of the spell, in a half-dozen voices shrieking loud enough to roar over the devil himself, and the room itself seemed to explode out of existence.

Dean blinked out with it.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean woke up feeling mostly numb, if slightly achy, with a weight leaning on his hip.

“And I wasn’t sure if Dee was a king or a knight but since he has to be in the space palace with me and daddy and you see stars a night, he’s a Star Knight. That means he can crash and blow up and stuff and he’s ‘onna be fine. He’s gotta be!” Claire was whispering and Dean felt a relief so sweeping he almost blacked out again.

“Is that right?” Bobby’s voice said kindly, “Well, you’re his princess, so I trust you.”

“Lot smarter than my old boss, that’s for sure,” Dean rasped, prying his eyes open. He grunted when Claire’s weight shifted so she was practically sitting on his stomach.

“Dee!” she cried out and then actually started crying.

Dean started to reach for her, but a fiery pain started peeking through the pain meds and he realized his arm was wrapped to his chest. Still, he lifted his other arm to touch her face, flickering between a smile and a frown when she gripped his hand and cried into his palm. “Heya, Princess.”

Claire clung to him, scrubbing at her face with one hand and clinging to his arm with the other. “Bobby said not t’ touch your arm or leg, so I’m ‘onna sit here, ok?”

Bobby shrugged, standing to come closer to the side of the bed. “Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Dean chuckled, because no, he didn’t. He was woozy with relief and more than happy to be able to see Claire close up. “Yeah, it’s fine, kid. I might float away if you’re not there,” he squinted blearily at his IVs. “What’d they put me on?”

“You finally shook off the anesthesia,” Bobby explained. “Knee was dislocated and, uh…” His eyes caught on Claire, “you had a pretty bad ‘scrape’ on your shoulder, plus a broken arm from when Rowena dang near blew the lid off the place, but they fixed you up.” He shook his head, “You look like crap, but you’ll live to be an idjit another day.”

Claire giggled and Dean stuck his tongue out at her. He turned towards Bobby, nerves stirring his stomach more than the painkiller cocktail. “And the others?”

Bobby had hardly opened his mouth to respond when the door to the room opened.

Sam had a gnarly bruise over half his face and it looked like his nose had been reset recently, but he was _alive_ and Dean could hardly keep from laughing with the joy of it all. Then he decided not to stop himself, watching Sam’s shoulders sag with relief. “Dean!”

“Good to see you, Sammy,” Dean said, only slightly winded. “Everyone looking as beat up as you?”

The huff of Sam’s exasperated laugh answered the question before he even spoke and Dean practically sank into the bed.

“We’re all fine. There was a scramble after…” The same flighty light that always crossed Sam’s eyes was absent, but he still shifted his jaw as he said, “After _Nick_ ran off with you. He did have back up, but we had enough people to handle it. The town needs a new McDonald’s sign, but nothing else.” He shook his head at how amazingly ridiculous that was, how _close_ they’d come to catastrophe. He sat on the edge of the mattress. “We’re all banged up, but even Rowena’s awake, it… We’re all _fine_.”

“Told you,” Claire said petulantly, as if she’d been offended by Sam’s doubt. “Sammy is a _worry wart_ ,” she said, intoning the world like she’d just learned it.

Sam just laughed. “Well, every dumb jerk needs a worrier,” he replied ignoring Dean when he mouthed, ‘ _bitch_ ’ over Claire’s shoulder.

“And Nick?” Dean asked, though, because he had to know.

“Smithereens,” Bobby answered quickly and Dean couldn’t figure out why until Castiel’s sharp whisper of “ _Claire!_ ” made his heart trip over itself.

“I told you to stay off the—!” Castiel froze half in the doorway when he realized Dean was awake. “ _Dean,_ ” he breathed.

They stared at each other, the relief rolling off Castiel like a wave and Dean’s heart pounding out of his chest, the audible beeps getting embarrassingly quicker.

Claire looked chastised, but reached out easily when Castiel came to pick her up. “Dee said it was ok,” she mumbled.

“Yeah,” Dean said, then coughed like his face wasn’t pink at the suddenly quickening beep of his heart monitor, like he couldn’t see Sam smirking or Bobby rolling his eyes. “It was time for me to get up anyway,” he said, trying to figure out how to get his leg out of the sling with one arm.

Castiel’s face crinkled in confusion. “What?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Sam scoffed, easily pushing Dean back against the bed.

Dean glared at him. “Uh, unless you slept through the past day, we have a _small_ PR fire to put out considering how…” he stopped just short of pointedly looking at Claire, “ _Nick_ got into the only place in the city _Nicks_ should not be able to get into!”

“Uh, unless _you_ slept through the past six years, _I’m_ the one with the law degree to put out PR fires. And I’m saying there aren’t any,” Sam shook his head like Dean was being especially slow today. “Dude, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but all our clients _love_ you. No one is bailing, no one is pressing charges. If anything, you just proved that The Bunker works how it’s supposed to. Even if Rowena hadn’t been able to—” he made a vague motion that Dean took to mean, ‘blow-the-devil-to-actual-literal-Hell’, “The Bunker stopped ‘ _Nick_ ’ in his tracks.”

“You’re welcome for that, by the way,” Bobby muttered under his breath. “But seeing as to how I sat out the big showdown, I’ll handle any questions Sam doesn’t.” He folded his arms, huffy. “I already got ‘bout 15 phone calls asking which room to send the flowers to. They’re starting a rotation chart to fix you dinner, son.”

Dean was a little flabbergasted by that, honestly, but also so touched that he didn’t even know what to say.

Sam put the pain pump in Dean’s hand, holding it there until Dean took it. “Just ‘til the bruises green, ok?”

With the knowledge of the well-being of everyone they’d been trying to protect, Dean couldn’t muster up the strength to argue. Frankly, he could stand to spend a few weeks doing nothing. Being on the receiving end of Castiel’s squinting for any length of time, though? Dean wasn’t sure his heart could take that.

“Can Claire and I go to the park?” Sam said suddenly, ignoring the way Dean’s gaze snapped over to him.

“I don’t think—”

“Yeah!” Claire exclaimed, wiggling in Castiel’s arms, “Can me and Sammy get popsicles?”

“Sounds fun,” Castiel said quickly before Dean could cut in, kissing her temple as she cheered. “Have Sam send me a picture, ok?”

“Ok!” Claire said and Sam laughed when he stood and she immediately reached up for him.

“Speaking of which, I’m gonna go check on the Sheriff. Benny’ll be around after while to check on you again,” Bobby said, following them and arching an eyebrow at Dean. “Don’t blow out that heart monitor.”

Dean almost said something curt, but Castiel shifting towards him like he was very nearly going to fall cut him off. “Cas?”

Castiel practically lurch walked the few steps he needed to get to the chair beside the bed, sitting down heavily. He looked slightly pale as he stared down at his own hands. “I’m… I have to apologize, Dean. I should’ve been able to protect you from this.” He looked up sharply when Dean chuckled.

“What’s that you always say about me being a martyr?” Dean said, watching with fondness as Castiel’s face went flat in exasperation. “Cas, it’s my _job_ to stop guys like Lucifer,” he motioned at his cast, at the hospital room, “Getting dented in the process is pretty par for the course.”

“But Luc—” Castiel stopped himself. “Nick had a point.”

Dean’s blood ran a little cold. “Excuse me?”

“I let myself… forget,” Castiel began haltingly, “Angels _were_ warriors, we were so much untethered power that even looking at us could kill a human, but,” he looked at Dean desperately, “we fell in love with our charges. We restrained ourselves so you could see us, so you could _touch_ us.” He licked his lips, “So you might be able to love us as well.”

“What are you getting at?” Dean asked, because he was sure it wasn’t just the morphine that was muddling his brain; he was missing something. A part of him settled and tensed at the same time when Castiel, hesitantly, took his hand.

“You _are_ my hero, Dean,” Castiel confessed softly. “I wasn’t lying when I said that, but that’s why I forget sometimes, you are…” he took a breath, forced some of his grace into Dean, across his body to the gash Lucifer’s knife had left, to the ease the pain in his knee. “You are just a human. _I’m_ the one who should be—” Dean squeezed Castiel’s fingers until his grace and his words stopped flowing.

“Cut the crap, ok?” He couldn’t quite keep the irritation out of his voice. “Yeah, Cas, I’m human, I know that. But I’m not _just_ a human, I’m a hunter. Saving people, hunting things? That’s the family business, that’s all there’s ever been for us.” He shook his head, “I was never a civilian in this fight. I signed up to stay in danger, Cas.”

“And the most dangerous thing that has happened to you was my _fault_ ,” Castiel reminded him.

“Lucifer and I had a history that had nothing to do with you. Even if he’d never come after Claire, his whole Angel Power Rangers fantasy would have led him back to the Men of Letters eventually. That wasn’t your fault,” Dean said, but recognizing the righteous guilt on Castiel’s face, he sighed. He ran his thumb across Castiel’s knuckles. “Cas, you oughta know, you could never be the worst thing that’s happened to me.”

Castiel laughed in a way that wasn’t funny at all. “I doubt that.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean looked away, “Only when you left.”

In the silence, Dean’s heart managed to slow down and they both just breathed. Castiel spoke up, eventually.

“It broke my heart, Dean,” he admitted softly.

“Mine, too,” Dean replied, but not spitefully. He even tried to smile, though wasn’t quite sure if he managed to avoid the heartache of the expression. “But we limped along, didn’t we? You got a great kid and I got a great job, a family, out of it all. We did alright for ourselves.”

“We did,” Castiel agreed, the same pained smile on his face. “Things could have definitely been a lot worse.”

Dean looked down at their joined hands, still tightly clenched together, and was struck with the fear that he would never feel this again. He thought he’d accepted it, the grief of knowing he and Castiel would never be together, but it was suddenly sinking in his chest that this could be the end of it. Castiel could thank him, genuinely with, all his heart and go back to his life. He could take Claire and they could go back to their little house in the burbs, only thinking of Dean when it was time to send out Christmas cards. They didn’t have to be anything after today.

But Dean wanted Castiel and Claire in his life so badly he’d risk the broken heart of Castiel saying no. He’d hate himself more for leaving those loose ends dangling, he had too much to lose to not _try._ Being a hunter did not predispose him to cowardice and nine years of running was way too many for his heart _or_ his pride to take any longer.

“Still coulda been better, too, though,” Dean offered, swallowing and running a nervous glance over Castiel’s face. “Got more space than I know what to do with in the penthouse…”

It didn’t take any time at all for Castiel to understand Dean’s meaning. He laughed, though it sounded closer to crying. “You’d risk me again?”

Dean wanted to joke about his life being based on risk taking, regardless of the outcome, but the truth snuck out without his consent. “I’d buy you a ring right now if it meant you’d stay with me,” he confessed softly. Shaking his head when Castiel stared at him, wide-eyed and flushed. “I wasn’t lying either, Cas. I would’ve spent my whole life with you,” he said, a sad smile twisting his mouth, “I still would, if you offered it.”

The tears that suddenly sprang to Castiel’s eyes were not a surprise, but Dean didn’t know what was causing them at first, didn’t dare guess. “Cas?”

“Dean,” Castiel gasped, voice wobbling with tears, “ _Dean_ , I could never stop loving you _,_ ” he said, tears rolling down his cheeks. “The only reason I ran all those years ago was because I was aspiring towards something I thought you would _hate_ , I wanted a _family_ , Dean.”

The hope that suddenly exploded in Dean’s chest seemed to erode all the pain left behind from Castiel walking out in the first place. “Cas, I was young and scared,” he confessed softly, “Even now, I don’t know if I’d be a good husband, or-or a good _father_ for Claire, but Castiel, I swear, I’d give it my goddamn all.”

“I know you would,” Castiel nodded, holding Dean’s hand against his chest, “but…”

“And I _want_ to,” Dean said instantly, sensing Castiel’s hesitation. “Cas, I’m scared to death, I am, but I’m never going to walk away from something I want this much.” He sighed, feeling lighter as he said, “I love you too much to let anything scare me away ever again.”

The awed and love-struck look that earned him fluttered in Dean’s chest and he couldn’t help but return it, even if he chuckled when Castiel wiped the tears from his face before he spoke again. “That kind of bravery, Dean, is exactly why you’re my hero.”

Dean tucked that thought away, should he ever need to use it to fight his own self-loathing, before letting that bravery lead his hand up to Castiel’s neck. When Castiel just smiled at him brightly, eyes shining with love, Dean didn’t hesitate to lead their mouths together, his soul finally settling after almost a decade as Castiel laughed against the lips of his unlikely hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh, the cheese!! There’s so much cheese, I hope you like cheese. Regardless, I would love to hear what you thought. Thank you for reading!
> 
> This was a really fun challenge! There are a bunch of other participants – with really interesting prompts, some even with artwork! – in the Ao3 collection, so I hope you check out some of their pieces and send some love! And another big round of applause for the organizers!


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